


MSR I: Last of the Dov

by Kalla_Lightheart, Summerlake



Series: Modern Skyrim Romance [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Different take on the civil war quest line, F/M, Future Character Death, Modern Era, Romance, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Romance Mod characters, Thalmor galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 81,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8586250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Lightheart/pseuds/Kalla_Lightheart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Summerlake/pseuds/Summerlake
Summary: Alduin rose and fell. The civil war in Skyrim began and ended. The Second Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion began and ended.And so time flowed on for a thousand years, witnessing the rediscovery of Dwemeri technology during the Resurgence Era... and the decline of magic all over Nirn until it was but a memory and finally a myth. And then came the beginning of the end: 9E 204.You cannot escape your destiny but fate is not always set in stone... and hiding from it in Apocrypha won't save you. Alduin was a concept, an idea... and ideas are dragonborn-proof.Will contain: Dovah-Zul (dragon speech) and Altmeris, as well as translations in story or in end notes.





	1. I regret everything

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a little monster that grew out of an illustration I was making. And then grew some more and grew beyond the confines it was born into. It's worth noting that this is NOT a modern take on the mod Skyrim Romance. This story takes character and hints from that mod as well as nods towards the main Skyrim quest line and the Civil War quest chain to create something different.  
> This is not an alternate world as much as roughly a thousand years after the Last Dragonborn defeated Alduin. Consideration has been given to what would logically have happened during that millennium to take Nirn to the state where it would be roughly where we are now in development and technology. Relevant timelines will be posted for those interested.

_The blood of Akatosh flows, spilling down the ages as man and mer ebb and flow. But the Divine of Time has a long memory, and what mortals forget, He shall remember. And the memory shall be kept until time unfolds wings to shadow the day of revolution and lead the way to destiny._

9E 204, 25th Rain’s Hand, Solstheim, Skyrim

The ferry ride to Raven Rock Harbour had been long and dull but not as long as the drive from Solitude to Windhelm. The latter jaunt had also been blessed by the presences of the car radio, something that had been a somewhat bigger challenge out on the open waters of the Sea of Ghosts between mainland and Solstheim. It was the reason the music on the smartphone had been saved for that stretch instead, as well as for the journey from the small shipping town to the centre of the large island. From Skyrim’s shores, the ferry only went to Raven Rock Harbour and back. If you wanted to go to mainland Morrowind or Vvardenfell, you had to cross to the south-eastern tip of the island and the town of Tel Mithryn. The divvying up of marine traffic had been done this way for as long as anyone could remember, both because of ancient rivalries as well as an attempt to stabilise the economy of the entire southern region.

None of that really mattered much to Ignatia though. Well, maybe the fact that it was cheaper to spend the night at a hotel in Raven Rock Harbour than anywhere in Windhelm mattered a little. It was always nice to keep business expenses to a low number. The decision to spend the night had been because the drive from her flat on the outskirts of Solitude City to Windhelm Harbour had taken a whopping thirteen hours, and that was when most of the roads had been motorways at that. The express ferry had taken another three hour from start to stop. She’d started early but by the time she disembarked, it would have been madness to continue on to the town of Thirsk. She would start early the next morning and hopefully arrive well before noon at her destination. Also, nosey townspeople weren’t something she wanted to deal with when out on… reclamation business.

As it turned out, she did arrive at her destination well before nine in the morning the next day. She’d had to leave the car further away from the old ruin than she would have liked but there wasn’t much of a road leading to the place. Probably because the locals said it had a bad history and didn’t want to make an attraction out of it, a similar treatment that was enjoyed by the many ancient barrows and tombs that littered the island. For the sake of survival though, they had loosened their grip upon some of the old forts and castles. Even Kagrumez, a Dwemer ruin, had been secured and offered tours during the summer season. Labelling it ‘summer season’ while on the northern coast of Skyrim and Morrowind seemed a bit of a misnomer though if anyone asked Ignatia. Then again, she was an Imperial and the stubborn Nords would have told her, as always, “What do you know?” The woman shook her head as she readjusted her backpack without stopping.

The trek up the steep hill had been a bit of a chore with trees, roots, and underbrush growing wild. There weren’t a lot of rocks or boulders in the way though, something that witnessed to a time long ago when this path had been cleared of such debris or used for construction. Nature may have reclaimed the land but the island’s sentient inhabitants had left their irremovable mark on it, much like a scar. Another scar soon came into view as the trees slowly but surely cleared. The ruined structure was circular in shape and looked a bit like a simple amphitheatre due to its decorative pillars having long since been knocked down.  Some still lay scattered around the place, like a game abandoned by the Divines in a careless moment. Supposedly the destruction had happened in the aftermath of some failed ritual that had taken place at the site. Or was meant to take place but it had been interrupted. There weren’t many records but it was stated as having occurred nearly a millennium ago, around the same time as the fabled Dragon Resurgence and the appearance of the Last Dragonborn.

There were authentic dragon skeletons and ancient armour made from the beasts’ hide and bones locked up in collections and museums all around Tamriel but that only supported half the claim. The details surrounding the person that the Nords had fondly labelled the “Last Dragonborn” had remained difficult to ascertain. If historical accounts were to be believed, then the art of Thu’um – of somehow putting power into your voice – could be learnt by almost anyone with sufficient dedication and willpower. There had even been a contemporary man, a jarl named Ulfric Stormcloak, who’d done precisely that; mastered Shouting. Since the art and its masters, an Order known only as the Greybeards, had disappeared from history during the following centuries, it was hard to tell if the Last Dragonborn had in fact had any connection to her namesake. For all the uncertainties that surrounded the mythical hero, there was one thing all accounts agreed upon: it had been a woman, much to the chagrin of some more traditionally minded scholars across Tamriel.

Female empowerment in all honour, but it mattered little to Ignatia if she didn’t find something that could be connected to the hero in those ruins. She wasn’t here on behalf of some university or circle of academics, not even an official government body. She was here for one reason and one reason only: her job. Well, the less… legit side of her job anyway, the side that catered to the individual as one of her oldest friends often put it. The Altmer could be very PC, especially when they weren’t in private, but Ignatia supposed someone had to be and if anyone was suited for it, it was Eyrenni. The woman had a talent for dancing the line but maybe that came from having grown up around diplomats and politicians. Ignatia had also spent most of her youth in ‘proper’ company but it seemed to have stuck less to her than it had to Eyrenni. Then again, as one counted years and not the equivalent age between man and mer, the other woman had more springs up her sleeve than Ignatia’s twenty seven winters. Somehow they had _always_ seemed to be on the same page as far as maturity went though.

The last stretch up to the ruin was made of several sets of stone stairs weathered into an almost unrecognisable state by the elements and time. It made the climb treacherous in places since the late spring month hadn’t managed to bring much warmth all the way up here yet. Once Ignatia reached the top however, it was another matter to get down into the circular pit. The tiers had been given the same courtesy as the stairs up to the structure, drawing a few curses from the Imperial as well as a blessing for bringing sturdy gloves. The garment probably saved her from drawing blood a few times. Her jeans didn’t look very happy with her at the end of the climb but they had long since been one of the pairs dedicated to this part of her job.

When her feet were firmly planted at the base of the pit, made either of thick stone slabs or hewn straight out of the bedrock, the human surveyed the place once again. It wouldn’t be too difficult to get anything out of here even if she did find something as big as a set of armour. She’d seen some of the dragonbone pieces before. They looked heavy but she had a sturdy rope with her, among other things.

There was a ramp to one side of the stage and the smooth surface caused Ignatia to slip once or twice. It would take careful manoeuvring if she found something heavy but worst case scenario, she could tie the goods up in a sling, get up onto the base above and hoist it up with the rope. She kept her muscles in fairly good shape after all. Brynjolf kept telling her though, one day she was going to find something she couldn’t just drag around and she’d regret it. Ignatia thought he should be happy there were enough reclamation jobs for all and that they didn’t need to split the pay.

What with the tools, technology and skills they all had at their disposal, they hadn’t needed to pair up even once and Ignatia had been doing this job for seven years. She’d been acquiring things of questionable origin and safety for the Wolfqueen’s Treasury for at least six of those years. Brynjolf had been an associate of the evaluation firm with its side business of black market auctions longer though. Maybe that meant he knew the job better than her – the risks and challenges – but Ignatia was a firm believer of ‘no pain, no gain’. The greater the risk, the higher the reward would be. Some of the old-fashioned types sometimes told her to be wary of the blessings, and curses, that often came to those born under the Thief’s sign. Ignatia just shook her head at them. Mentally, if it was someone she shouldn’t be rude around. Her world was very much one of supply and demand and it was always better to stay in the latter’s good graces.

Once she reached the end of the ramp cut into the rock, another challenge presented itself. At some point, someone had set up a barricade made of thick iron bars, bolting the thing into the very walls. The bars were set together so tightly that not even a child could have squeezed through, but there was a door with a huge padlock hanging from it. Both had rust and vines crawling all over them though, causing the woman to snort softly.

Obviously, someone had made a token effort to keep the place barred but not seen to the upkeep. Then again, how many strangers would come all the way out here if it wasn’t an official attraction? It was also too far from any village or town so no local youths were likely to use the place to hang out either. All in all, it left the place oddly deserted, like a toy no one had had the heart to throw out as they outgrew it and now didn’t know sat up in the attic collecting dust. It was almost sad. But hey, if Ignatia could dig out the treasure from the rest of the muck and make a tidy profit on it, the effort would be worth it!

Studying the lock for a moment, Ignatia pulled the rucksack from her back. The padlock looked simple enough. Maybe it would prove cooperative and pop open easily. Inserting the slender picks, she took a moment to get familiar with the layout of the lock’s interior. On the one hand it felt odd, almost old-fashioned, to use lock picks in this day and age of technology. On the other though, the stuff Ignatia and her associates often collected wasn’t exactly found behind computer aided locks or vault doors. _Those_ kinds of goods were often too heavily guarded to be worth the risk. They were also much more likely to be missed.

Although, to be sure, Ignatia confessed as she began to work on the padlock’s old tumblers, Skyrim had to begin run out of weird and wonderful things that the Treasury could nab soon. At least in this corner of Tamriel. She knew Brynjolf and one other had gone beyond the borders once or twice on reclamation business but no more than that. Skyrim, for all its history of superstition and prejudice against magic, had always had a lot of stuff locked up in old tombs and barrows. It made collectors drool, but it also made more forward thinking scientists and inventors turn their heads as well. Attempts at combining magic and technology had been performed, and failed, before. It didn’t stop anyone from attempting to try again though, risk of explosions and all. Ignatia could see the potential, the attraction in such an endeavour. She just wasn’t the experimenting kind. She’d rather be the one to acquire the raw materials studied or needed for an attempt. All of this also depended upon whether such a thing as magic – the way it’d been described in the past – actually existed. That was still up for debate but if someone came up with something legit… No, it’d still have to be something _well_ big for Igni to believe it.

The increasing resistance from the mechanics of the lock upon her picks made her frown at it. She could try to force it. Pour in some oil and heat it up with the small, handheld blowtorch. Then again, she only had so much fire salts on her. That was another thing that didn’t come cheap or was easy to acquire. If she was lucky, there would be stuff like that in there.

Of course, it was also very likely that she was being very optimistic about the whole situation and content of the place. The ruin _had_ stood there for some millennium since it was last used in any capacity and then it had been the focus of some cult or the other. On the other hand, the inhabitants of Solstheim were known for not being welcoming to strangers who showed an interest in their ancient structures. It was why she’d said she was there to investigate the possibility of perhaps taking a certain Thirsk mead and importing it to the mainland. She’d also have to drive by Thirsk and do at least one sampling just to back that claim up. It was just easier to keep your cover that way. She’d been debating with herself about the order of her business on the ferry ride over and neither option - going to Thirsk before or after - had been better than the other. Go before and they might question why she took so long to get back.  Go after having visited the temple and she’d most likely have something in her car she wanted to keep out of sight. It was a lose-lose situation and in the end, arriving at Raven Rock Harbour had made the decision for her: after it was.

Ignatia regarded the lock for a moment longer. She wanted to keep her picks in one piece for when she got inside but she also preferred to leave as few hints as possible that someone had been here. In the end, she dug out a chisel and hammer. Putting the sharp end of the chisel to the spot with the most rust on it, she pulled back and swung the hammer. She only had to hit the head twice before the padlock’s arm was broken enough that she could bend it out of shape the last bit of the way and cause the eroded metal to snap and break. It was better than putting the metal saw to it. A clean cut like that would be a dead giveaway that someone had been there.

Dropping the padlock to one side, she repacked her tools before attempting to open the door. It got as far as her picks had gotten with the lock. That is to say, absolutely nowhere. Frowning, Ignatia took a steady hold on two of the least corroded bars furthest from the hinges and put one foot on the bars making up the frame. Taking a bracing breath and putting half her weight into it, she jerked harshly on the door. It began to move outwards slowly but under loud protestations. Ignatia winced at the first cry of rusted metal but then ignored it and continued to pull. Her other foot came off the ground once or twice but in the end the door was open enough for her to pass through. She sent a silent note of thanks to her persistent training of her leg muscles in particular. A person’s legs were one of the most powerful tools in a person’s body and could do far more harm than the arms ever could. That wasn’t to say she’d ignored her arms, she just had killer legs in more ways than one.

Shouldering her rucksack again, she slipped through the gate and set her shoulder to the ancient stone door. How they had managed to create these mechanisms in the days of yore she wasn’t sure but they had and it was weirdly satisfying to hear the laborious grind of stone on stone as the door slowly gave way. It took longer to get that door open enough to get through comfortably compared to the gate but then maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. The centuries couldn’t have done these stones any good and it wasn’t like they would suffer erosion in the same as honed metal did.

What peeked back at Ignatia from beyond the door was a sea of blackness. The pale light from the overcast sky above only made it so far beyond the stone barrier due to the temple exterior shielding the door from most of it. It looked as forbidding and foreboding as one might expect of a place with a history such as this one. But Ignatia had delved into ruins and barrows with similar stories surrounding it. Geirmund’s Hall came to mind. All it’d had was a lot of dust, ancient, but unmoving, skeletons and draugr. The days of plentiful magicka, curses, things shuffling through the dark and swooping or howling in the night were long past. Myths, stories and horrors belonged to the past and they were going to stay there, no matter what old ruins and haunts they’d left behind for their descendants to poke and prod at.

Pulling out a torch, Ignatia flicked it on and let the beam of light travel over floor, walls and ceiling. It was a corridor leading downwards at a subtle decline, the torch’s bright light fading away until a pitch black maw swallowed the watery beam some metres ahead of her. These places always looked _so_ inviting!

Shaking her head, Ignatia stuffed the sarcastic cheer at the back of her mind and instead dug out an air filter mask from her rucksack’s side pocket and slipped it on. When these places had been shut for long periods of time and had few ventilation points, the air easily got stale. It was also difficult to tell quickly enough if there were any cracks deeper into the core of Nirn from which gases could leak. If that was the case, then a trickle that had been active for several centuries could easily fill rooms or entire lower levels. You’d be wading into poisoned air without even realising it and, if unlucky, you’d be dead.

Brynjolf had been the co-worker to induct her into the reclamation side of the business and he’d been thorough. That wasn’t to say Ignatia wasn’t good at taking care of herself and being cautious… well, at least some of the time. Eyrenni would say she wasn’t careful enough half the time. That was rather amusing to have coming from her friend though, seeing how the Altmer used her skills in computers and security for less than legit activities sometimes herself. Whenever Ignatia brought that up though, Eyrenni would scoff and say she’d never gotten caught and she always made sure to cover her tracks, as well as get out, before she was noticed in case her position was beginning to get compromised. The mer _did_ have some extra safety nets to fall back on but she said she never counted on them herself. If she did, she’d most likely end up using them too early and it wasn’t a smart move. Ignatia could agree with that logic.

Unzipping her leather jacket, the Imperial loosened the holster of her semi-automatic Eagle Eye-410 and moved it lower, beyond the hem of the jacket, before tightening it again. Closing the outer garment to retain as much warmth as possible, because the depths of places such as these were sure to be chilly and especially this far north, she pulled the handgun out. Cocking it, she flipped the thumb safety into place and holstered it. Normally it was either half or fully cocked, the latter always with safety on, when she delved into any place while on a reclamation mission. She’d never needed to use it but it was a safety measure. Neither she nor anyone else at Wolfqueen’s Treasury had ever run into a, so to speak, live draugr but there were so many tales and written works from the past that the management was paranoid enough about their staff to advocate a firearm at the very least. Ignatia still thought it ridiculous but hey, free gun and training.

Management also preferred to know that their agents had some sort of insurance in case they ran into any _other_ kind of trouble. Using subterfuge and words were preferable to an altercation according to the Wolfqueen’s protocol but if it was unavoidable, they preferred their agents, and anything in their possession, to get away as unscathed as possible. The black market auction house side of the company dealt in some shady, and illegal, merchandise but no one could say they didn’t look after their employees.

The job also offered the kind of thrill Ignatia adored. Some might wonder what fun there was to be had in shuffling through ancient ruins for anything that may have been missed but Ignatia would be able to tell them a few stories. Or rather, she would if she wasn’t interested in keeping the number of idiots roaming through ruins she, or the company, would have an interest in at a minimum.

Moving away from the door, Ignatia followed the entrance corridor as it undulated in a softly serpentine pattern. To both left and right empty archways into antechambers gaped back at her like the mouth of a child who was starting to lose their first set of teeth. The walls had an almost slavish attention to uniformity, with just a hint of loving detail cut in, while the floor had been hewn smooth. The tell-tale semi-polished look stone got from constantly being trod upon or caressed by water for years snaked along the path before her but thinned out over the last foot nearest the walls. The roughest part of the complex so far was the ceiling. Maybe the place had been built in a hurry and then nobody had simply cared about it, leaving it as is, or maybe it was only the way the entrance looked. Time would tell.

A bend of the hall and a room came up. Ignatia slowed and surveyed it from the archway leading into it. In cases like these, she’d been told, there was usually some trap ahead. Brynjolf had acquired that piece of unfortunate experience on his own and he bore a scar from it on his lower thigh. Throwing the beam of light around, large, erect coffins peeked out in the dark. Their lids had long since come undone and crashed into the merciless stone floor, breaking out in spidery cracks or shattering completely. Their occupants lay in crumbled heaps alongside the lids. All except for two. One had fallen a few metres away from his coffin and the other lay in the middle of the room with his head a few feet away. If anything could inspire stories of walking dead, it’d be scenes like this one. Ignatia shook her head gently but freed her gun anyway.

As no trap or trigger seemed to be tied directly to the doorway, the Imperial inched through it and immediately stepped to the side. Moving towards the desiccated corpse almost in the middle of the room, she stopped by its feet and stretched out one of her own. Poking at the husk with the tip of her boot, she waited for a reaction. Nada. Poking it again and then giving it a light kick didn’t garner so much as a twitch. Frowning, she took a step closer and put her foot firmly upon the heel joint and, keeping her eyes upon its upper body, put her full weight on that foot. Several sicken but brittle snaps echoed softly through the chamber but that was it. No dry bones clattered, nothing moved.

Moving around the corpse, she shone the light over the only other doorway in the room. Some sort of head adorned the space above it, the details blocky but there were hollows in the mouth and eyes.  Glancing around the room, Ignatia finally settled on doing a rough estimate on the angle of the hollow in the mouth to see where about on the floor any projectile might land. There was a section of the floor there that looked like it could be loose. Eyeing it for a moment, her eyes and torch slowly travelled over the floor to settle on the desiccated head belonging on the corpse she’d manhandled earlier. Rather him than her…

Hey, at least he was already dead!

Moving over to it, she took aim and punted it towards the suspicious spot in the floor. It rolled to a stop but nothing happened. Maybe it was too light? Well, as long as she had a marker for the possible trap, she was happy. With a shrug, Ignatia turned back to the doorway and began heading down the stairs beyond it.

A few rooms and corridors later, some with yet more deactivated traps, a big chamber opened up. It took a while to scout it out but it was roughly square in shape, high in ceiling and with a circular staircase leading down in the middle. It wasn’t really a circle though but rather hewn out of the bedrock in a square shape, the steps following the edge down into the dark. Dangling from above it were metal cages, just big enough for a large man to stand bent inside it. Some still held long dead bones within.

If there had been any other rooms connected to the huge chamber, she would have checked them before heading down the stairs but apparently no such luck would be had. So far, she hadn’t found anything of note either. Once she reached the bottom, the winding halls of a mausoleum took over. That’s what they would have called it where she grew up at least, in Bruma. She knew that the family, due to their blood ties to the comital line, had spaces reserved within the family mausoleum. For a fleeting second, Ignatia wondered if there still was a space with her name on it, as morbid as that now sounded, despite being disowned. The countess, her father’s sister, had always had a soft spot for the mischievous child and youth Ignatia had been. She assumed it was unlikely that she’d ever get to know unless she reached out to her aunt because Divines knew it wouldn’t be through her family she found out. They hadn’t been best impressed, or pleased, with her thoughts on their choice of man. Or how she’d dealt with the issue of the arranged betrothal. It was a thing of the distant past now, or at least felt like it. In honesty, it was only… gods, had it been a decade since then? Well, barely one since her disownment. It felt longer and shorter at the same time…

The numerous corpses, either wrapped up like mummies or desiccated warriors in their armour whose connecting leather base and strips had long since rotted away, slowly made way for a barren corridor again. Well, not entirely barren. Large pendulum blades hung from the ceiling, clogging up the path in a nearly straight line. Someone had obviously been here at some point and deactivated this trap but how long ago? That was anyone’s guess. It seemed long enough though because the air was stale this deep down, tasting faintly of earth at the back of Ignatia’s mouth despite the filter, and a layer of dust lay over everything.

At the end of the hall was a huge lever as well as spikes peeking out from the top of the arched doorway, making it look a bit like the mouth of a beast. Ignatia frowned at it before laying the torch on the floor by her feet and grasping the lever with both hands. It refused to budge no matter how much she jerked on it.

 _Well, that’s something at least_ , she acknowledged silently as she picked up the torch again. It had probably rusted but it was good to know it was less than likely to come falling down and trapping her here. Still, she was cautious when moving through the doorway. If she’d been taller, she would have reached up and pulled on one to see how hard the individual spikes were set into the arch.

Going past a huge set of double doors that had fallen off its hinges since long ago, she finally arrived at a slight problem. A large chamber lay before her but she stood at a stone lip with a rough seven foot drop to the platform that had stone steps leading down to the floor. Judging from the rotted wood that lay piled on the platform below her, there had once been a wooden ramp or some other structure here instead of stone steps all the way. Handy if you wanted to restrict access to the inner sanctum but currently… it was a pain in the ass, to be blunt. In _her_ ass at that, something that made it doubly annoying.

Finding the holes in which she assumed ropes for the ramp had been anchored, she dropped her bag on the floor and dug out her own rope. Threading it through one hole, she tied it around her waist and hoisted herself down and landed on the dry wood with a crunching sound. Freeing herself, Ignatia tied the two ends together to make sure the rope didn’t slip free. No matter how unlikely that was, she preferred being paranoid to being stuck. After scouting out the chamber, she came to the conclusion she probably had the same problem on the other side. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she let the torch dance over her surroundings. It was far too dark to work in here, really.

Ignatia paused at that thought then slowly panned the light beam back until it lit upon something she’d spotted earlier: an unlit brazier. She considered it for a second and then dug a lighter out of her rucksack. Lighting it caused nothing to explode, the flame didn’t burn as though high on something so she assumed the room was clear of any flammable gas. Walking up to the nearby wall where more dry, broken wood lay, she began hauling it over to the big metal container and dumping it in.

Emptying out a tiny bit of fire salts on top of the heap, Ignatia lit it with her lighter. The flames rose quickly, greedily licking at the granules that refused to be spent in mere moments. It’d take the grains about ten minutes to fizzle out and by then the wood would be well and truly burning. Ignatia piled on some more wood and left a few planks at the base of the brazier before giving the room a once over again as more and more of it was revealed in the growing light of the small bonfire.

Behind the brazier, jutting out from the wall, was a carved dragon’s head, its lines blocky and stylised. She wasn’t interested in the ancient art though. It stood on a base and it was low enough for her to get up on but also high enough towards the wall for her to reach the upper platform. She could get up there without too much issue and once there, she would hopefully find some other anchoring point for a rope to make the trip back easier, especially if she found something big.

It was always a bit of a flip of the septim whether or not she wanted to find something big. On one hand, it was exciting and it landed her a big bonus. On the other, it was a pain to get out of the ruin and deliver in a pristine condition. Besides, many smaller items could land her just as big a profit.

Getting up onto the upper platform proved a fairly easy business, the light from the fire below casting dancing shadows around the stone pillars. Through another broken doorway - one of the wooden objects was still somehow clinging to the upper hinge - a corridor and over a crude stone bridge that overlooked another large chamber. It took a while to navigate that chamber but in one of the side passages she came across some ancient tomes and coins. The treated vellum was brittle as a dried butterfly’s wing so she refrained from taking a peek inside. Languages weren’t her forte anyway so it was very likely she wouldn’t be able to read the ancient dialect used inside. After carefully stashing them inside her rucksack, Ignatia moved on.

Beyond the huge chamber and down another blasted set of stairs she came to a dead end. Well, _almost_ a dead end. The far wall of the room had a dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling high above. Erect sarcophagi, their lids strewn about them, lined the walls while ancient draugr lay scattered over the floor like the remains of yesterday’s party you were stuck cleaning up.

The beam of light hit a wall everywhere except for one place: within the depths of a coffin set upon a dais. Even if it hadn’t been so obvious, a coffin on a dais would have screamed “obvious”. Before moving, Ignatia walked over to the far wall on the left. Only once before had she seen what the Nordic history books called a “word wall”, a wall inscribed in the ancient and forgotten tongue of the dragons. It had been in a forgotten vale outside an ancient and crumbling chantry of Auri-El that, despite the name, had been situated in Skyrim. The morning sun of early Morning Star had been streaming down, the air had been cold enough to mist her breath but the sight had been… magnificent. The water of the lake she’d trod to reach the small isle with the structure had been blessedly frozen solid, too, otherwise that reclamation mission could have ended _very_ differently.

Pulling out her phone, she took a picture of it before stepping through the vertical sarcophagus on the dais. Apparently the people who’d used the temple liked to eat in peace because what lay just beyond had to be a dining hall and kitchen. There was honestly no other way to describe it. On the western wall there was a passage that was either an unfinished corridor or a secret passage that led to what appeared to be a library or reading chamber. What was the deal here?

“Did the owners not want anyone seeing them sneak into the kitchen to grab a snack during their midnight reading session?” Ignatia grumbled to herself as she moved to the next chamber. There was a hole in the floor. Great. Upon closer inspection it became clear that there had been stairs there. Wooden if the rest of the biodegradable material in this place had anything to say about it. Thick metal pegs stuck out of the wall at even intervals, obviously marking where the steps had once been secured. The metal _looked_ sturdy enough to hold her…

They did hold her weight. In fact, they held it all the way down two sets of winding stairs that were no longer there. The interesting thing here was that there wasn’t even a hint of broken wood left behind. It was as though someone had dismantled the stairs or something. Beyond another grand chamber with sarcophagi came at long last a truly dead end: a circular room with a gross statue and a stone pedestal in the middle. Upon closer inspection, she noticed there was actually a book upon the pedestal and it wasn’t ruined like half the other tomes inside this place.

 _Sweet,_ Ignatia thought with a grin as she stuck the torch under one arm to have both hands free so she could carefully handle the ancient thing. It was bound with a cord of hardened leather that wrapped around it and crossed itself twice over to hold the covers shut both vertically and horizontally. It must also have been hardened after it was tied around the book because it was tight, stiff and refused to budge no matter how Ignatia tried to pry it off.

“Divines… damn it,” she grunted before letting out a frustrated sigh. Eyeing the tome for a heartbeat, she wondered if she should just leave the blasted thing on. It could damage the value if it was removed but they would have to remove it later anyway, wouldn’t they? The clients would want to know what was inside after all and that they were getting the genuine stuff. The Wolfqueen’s Treasury never dealt in fakes, not as far as Ignatia knew and had experienced anyway, but some people were paranoid. She didn’t blame them. If she was a buyer and knew what kind of shit you had to go through to find even one of the pieces the Treasury put up for auction, she would want some reassurance, too.

Grabbing the small army knife whose holster rested snugly against her rear, she pulled the blade free and placed the torch upon the plinth the statue behind the pedestal stood upon. She was going to take care of this now. Better know how to handle the goods while bringing them out of here than not. Some items abhorred humidity and in the case of finding something like that, she usually stuck them in the powered cooler she always brought with her. It was never possible to tell how long a reclamation job would take so it was better to come fully prepared after all.

It took some careful sawing with the serrated edge of the knife but in the end the cords had all been cut. _Score one in the perseverance versus ancient ruins battle_ , Ignatia noted smugly with a quick jerk upwards of one corner of her mouth as she sheathed the knife again and ensured it was safely stuck inside. Nothing like taking a fall and cutting yourself on your own knife that hadn’t been secured in its casing to teach you a lesson. It hadn’t been a bad cut but it had branded the left side of her mouth pretty nicely. She’d never been the clumsy type but this had been during her first year of doing reclamation jobs. You live and learn.

Right now though, the only thing Ignatia wanted to learn about was the book. The cover seemed to be pieced together by several smaller pieces of hide, all sewn together like a patchwork done by a child, and it carried faint indentations, possibly also a minor discolouration, from the cord. That was okay. Ghosting her fingertips over the cover, the surface felt like the peel of an orange. It was almost weird to find something this soft and pliable down here. The other books had been stiff and brittle, demanding the need for a soft cloth and some bubble wrap.

This tome wasn’t like any of the other books though. Its cover was blank behind the hide itself, no name, no title, no nothing. This was probably something special and it made it all the more exciting. Ignatia could practically feel the hum of it singing through her veins, causing the small grin to light up her scarred face. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she gently traced the edge of the cover before sliding her fingers beneath it. Catching just the lip of it, she carefully flipped it open.

And then it all went to Oblivion.

A glaringly bright light with a faint but sickly green undertone suffused the small room, flaring out from the pages. Ignatia instinctively jerked back her hand and threw it up to cover her eyes as she took a stumbling step backwards, cursing the object harshly. After images, in weird towering shapes, flashed before her closed eyes due to not having shut them quickly enough but they were also quick to die. And then something rammed into her. _Hard._ It sent her staggering back a step before tumbling to the floor with whatever had bulldozed into her tagging along. The fall, as well as the weight on top of her, knocked the air right out of her lungs with a pained grunt. Her rear and upper back were going to be exceedingly unhappy with her come tomorrow, she could feel it.

But the light was dying, slowly but surely, into a faint shimmer. Whatever had knocked into her was still there, too. Ignatia’s eyes flew open even as her mind conjured up the horrific image of a section of the ceiling crushing her body beneath tons of bedrock. What her bright amber eyes beheld was… well, not what she’d ever expected. It wasn’t even something she would have betted on. Or maybe she would have because it sounded crazy enough!

There was a man sprawled on top of her. At least it felt like a male humanoid. What she could see of him was covered in dark cloth and an ass-ugly mask of some gold and possibly iron alloy if the dull yellow surface was anything to go on. Ignatia stared. And stared. And then her head whipped about as best she could from her position as a mattress, or airbag, really, on the cold floor. Where in Oblivion had he come from!? And on a rather important side note, she sincerely wanted him off of her so she could _move_ again.

“Nghn! You’re heavy!” Ignatia groaned as she pushed on Mr Ugly-mask’s shoulders. He began to move, slowly at first, but it didn’t take long before he was supporting at least some of his weight upon one of his arms. The torch cast its bright light upon the room from upon the plinth, haloing him somewhat as he loomed above her. Ignatia was of the taller end of the spectrum for an Imperial woman but this guy, even if she would hazard a guess that he wasn’t unfit beneath those weird clothes that were starting to remind her of a hazmat suit, was taller. A lot taller. He was sitting up now, albeit sitting on her and straddling her hips, but as long as he was vertical, she wouldn’t complain. At least not too much. Actually, you know what? Screw that!

“Could you get off of me?” she demanded sharply while she tried to rein in her brain that had begun to run amok. In full view like this, that mask was way more creepy than it was ugly. It resembled some sort of sea monster or stylised nightmare fuel. It took a second or two and if she had been able to see his face, she guessed he might have been blinking at her but then he moved and she was off the floor as quick as a slaughterfish that had scented its prey in a river.

The torch cast them both in sharp relief as they stood there silently for a moment. It was like watching one of those black and white movies. The only thing missing was a good soundtrack. Life _never_ had one of those. It was most unfair. And then it was like Mr Ugly-mask blinked, only he hadn’t, he turned to observe the room around them. Ignatia cast a swift glance at the book she had touched earlier. He couldn’t have…?

“The temple appears as it once was.” Ignatia froze at the voice that suddenly echoed through the room, bouncing against walls, ceiling and floor like a rubber ball – only it didn’t slow down with every new surface it bounced into, it picked up speed. Or maybe that was just her brain? “Yet it feels different.” His voice was a deep baritone with a rough quality to it, somehow the mask or the room deepened it further. He also had an extremely old fashioned touch to his words and an accent she couldn’t place.

“Tell me,” he asked calmly, sounding almost bored, as he turned partly towards her, “do the dragons still roam the sky? Or has Alduin been slain?” Ignatia stared. No. He had not just asked her that. He couldn’t have. The silence stretched and it almost felt like he was narrowing his eyes at her, only… she couldn’t damned well see them because of that creepy mask!

“No. They don’t,” she finally replied, words quickly out of her mouth and slightly muffled due to the air filter she still wore. He gave a short nod in reply before apparently focusing properly on her and wasn’t that unnerving? She was about to ask him to remove the mask when he spoke again.

“And so, who are you to come here, unbidden, seeking the depths of my temple? You pulled me through,” Mr Ugly-mask said as his gaze wandered over to the pedestal and the book that was for some reason _closed_ now even though the blasted pages seemed to emit a faint light from within their patchwork binding. “From Oblivion and unto Nirn, I have returned at long last.” That made her freeze.

 _From Oblivion?_ A shiver so light it could have been a ghost’s breath ran down her spine. Had she just released someone from _Oblivion_?!

“Solstheim still harbours the descendants of those souls?” Ignatia’s gaze flipped back to Mr Tall-Dark-and-seriously-not-safe. He was turning towards the only doorway in the room. Her lips felt dry, mouth as well. Licking the former didn’t seem to help much and she could hear the faint but increasing thudding noise of her own pulse in her ears. All that ancient crap about the Daedric Princes once dabbling in the affairs of mortals… True? But how true? Had she just set someone – some _thing_ even because she couldn’t see if the face matched the mask – loose that ought not to be free? The fingers of her right hand twitched like they’d just received a minute shock, breath frozen in her lungs for a second.

And then she was moving. The distance wasn’t great, she crossed it in three rushed strides, but it was enough to jerk her gun free and crash the butt of it into the back of Mr Ugly-mask’s head with an unpleasant sounding if dull crack.

Ignatia held her breath for something that felt like seconds but most likely only lasted fraction of that time before the tall stranger crumbled before her. He hit the floor with a hard thud and then there was silence. Ignatia stared at the ragdoll at her feet. That… had been a bit of a panicked move, she could agree with that. A stupid, unplanned move but panicked nonetheless. She glanced at the book again where it lay in all its dubiously innocent glory. It seemed to wink cheekily at her. Ignatia sent it a spiteful glare and considered dumping the thing in the brazier she’d lit on the way in. She turned back to her strange visitor though and, nabbing the torch, carefully inched around him until she could crouch down by his head but out of reach of any sudden movements.

Flashing the beam of light upon his form, she could finally confirm he wore some sort of layered outfit of dark fabric and bright trim. She wouldn’t be able to describe it more accurately until she turned him over. Turn him… Ignatia took in his full form again. What could he be, a whole head taller? That was unusual when compared to her, at least for a man who wasn’t an Altmer. Some tall Nords could get close to it but otherwise… no. Her five foot just above ten inches served her well.

Returning her focus to his face again, she studied the mask. It was a disturbing number. It also reminded her of another piece she had once picked up during a reclamation job. In all honesty, it should have gone with the rest of the haul into the Treasury’s vault but the job had been a difficult one, as well as one of her earliest reclamation jobs. She’d wanted a memento and that mask had fit the bill, ugly though it was. And speaking of ugly masks…

Ignatia stared at the unconscious man on the floor. She sat there for a minute and just plain stared at his back. She was starting to regret this. She was starting to regret a lot of things actually. Raina would have said it was because of the way she chose to live. Ignatia thought she had done pretty bloody spectacularly with her life so far, thank you very much. Well… bar going to Solstheim that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-author: I write this piece with a great author who's finally on AO3 as well as on DeviantArt where you can find her under the name "Kalla Lightheart". She has a way with words and an excellent style of writing. She's well worth your time. There might also be other, one-off, guest authors who co-write or contribute to certain chapters. They'll be given credit.
> 
> Disclaimer: TESV: Skyrim belongs to Bethesda. Skyrim Romance Mod and its characters belong to Mara Lightfeather. All additional OCs belong to their respective creators. Inspiration is taken from over the board of all TES games, even ESO where it fits and doesn't clash. Any lyrics used for inspiration or written in the story belong to their respective creators unless otherwise noted.
> 
> Thanks to: Kalla, Kaida, Illitra, TyroScribe, Iren and Elasha for their various contributions story-wise. Also thanks to Naela, Cecilia and Jinx for the use of their characters in this story. Additionally, thanks to SRM for being the platform where I met all these people, the characters that come from that mod and why MSR came about.
> 
> Art: I draw a lot as well as write and this story has a lot of art that goes with it. Some chapters will even have individual pieces. Everything (by me) can be found on my DeviantArt in its own sub-gallery:  
> https://phaesummer.deviantart.com/gallery/60263093/Modern-Skyrim-Romance
> 
> Language: I write in British English, as those of you who've read my pieces may have noticed. My co-author however, writes in US English. So if the words suddenly change, you know why.
> 
> Original title: Modern Skyrim Romance was a placeholder name in the beginning. When I couldn't come up with a good one, the abbreviation (MSR) stuck because it was also a play on SRM. Since then, the story has grown enough to get parted into pieces, the first which is called Last of the Dov. As such, warnings and characters will change throughout the arcs.
> 
> Names: Care has been taken to give canon Skyrim character surnames that suit them or is a nod to their past, role in the game, etc.
> 
> Original characters: Almost all OCs in this story comes from playthroughs of the mod Skyrim Romance. As such, they're all "from the same time frame and role". Care has been taken to try to preserve the characters' backgrounds as much as possible while still staying as close to vanilla Skyrim content as possible and make everyone fit into the Nirn of MSR. There is no "LDB" in MSR's current time because that person died a long ago.


	2. Stranger maybe danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters have already been written and gone through beta so they'll be posted quickly. ^^

The task of getting a man both taller, by a lot, and heavier than her back up those _non-existent_ stairs had been a trip to, through and back from Oblivion. Ignatia was glad for the sturdy climber’s rope she had packed and that everything she attached it to held his weight. That hadn’t kept her from cursing him for being heavy, for unnerving her earlier, for being unconscious and then making her curse herself for the inability to just leave him there.

And why hadn’t she? Normally she wouldn’t have cared this much but she didn’t really know what he was, something that really should have given her cause enough to leave him behind on its own. But he didn’t have any light. Would he even have been able to get out of the temple if she’d just left him there? She honestly wasn’t sure. She didn’t _think_ he had any injury from the blow and subsequent fall he’d taken but she was no doctor to even be able to take a guess on that.

She cursed him again for being unconscious as they reached the hall where the brazier was burning merrily. She also chose to pointedly ignore who’d put him in said state to begin with as she dumped him beside the light source and dropped down next to him with a grunt. Giving the rope at the other end of the hall that she’d left to be able to climb back up a baleful stare, Ignatia considered once again the option of leaving him behind.  He _did_ have light here!

She eyed the brazier and the extra wood all around. How high could she safely build that? How long would it even take for him to wake up? Would the fire have died by then? Leaving him here in the dark sounded far too much like a death sentence for her comfort and she’d never killed a man before. She’d been spared that dubious pleasure of an experience and didn’t much fancy this trip to be the time she did it. Besides, there was a difference to killing in self-defence, killing in cold blood and causing someone’s death by ignorant or uncaring behaviour.

She stared at his ugly mask.

…She was not getting paid enough to have his death on her conscience. Damn it!

Her stare morphed into a glare. It was a butt-ugly mask. A few moments passed in unmoving silence, the gentle crackle, hiss and pop from the blaze a few paces away being the only sound to break the quiet. The play of light and shadows that danced upon walls and floors in sharp contrast was softer as it shimmered over the mask. His clothes almost seemed to absorb some of the light, reminding her of why he was unconscious in the first place: Oblivion.

Ignatia rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. Maybe she should check that he appeared as human as he sounded? He could be wearing a mask for any number of reasons. A stray thought flitted through her mind, reminding her of the lesser map of scars that decorated her own face and how they got there. She didn’t wear a mask though. If you disregarded the fact that it would have been weird, she wasn’t ashamed of them. They just marked different occasions or jobs in her life. For instance, the one that had almost bisected her left eye, she had gotten it in a bar fight. It was just pure, dumb luck it hadn’t blinded her. She had less than perfect eyesight from birth but refused to wear glasses unless she was in the privacy of her flat. She only needed them to make reading less strenuous. To be honest though, her left eye had been a bit worse ever since she acquired the scar that slithered down her forehead and over her cheekbone, so… just partially dumb luck. It didn’t matter to Ignatia as long as it didn’t affect her work, which it didn’t! Eyrenni could say whatever she wanted about glasses looking cute on her. That was just one thing Ignatia wouldn’t be swayed on. And she refused to go poke out her eye with lenses.

Ignatia scooted closer so she could lean over Mr Ugly-mask’s face and lift his head off the stone floor. The ties to the mask lay almost at the dead centre of the back of his head, as though he’d been wearing the thing for centuries, always tying it in the same way, on the same spot, and practice had born the perfection of never needing to see what you were doing. How long _had_ he been in Oblivion anyway? If he now was from Nirn that is.

Undoing the ties, Ignatia removed the surprisingly light piece of metal and stared.

He had an almost disappointingly human face. What with the primordial sea monster motif the mask was displaying, she’d actually expected something else. But maybe it was like extremely fancy or specific clothes in this day and age. Dress in a certain way and people assume you’re as deadly sharp as you look, like that music group who dressed like a bunch of dremoras. Molag Ballers or whatever it was they were called.

This guy though…

He wasn’t too bad looking, she would (grudgingly!) give him that. He had a chiselled chin that flowed up into a strong jaw and high, contoured cheekbones. Ignatia’s eyes continued up to his closed lids and the slightly curved but strong brows that crowned them. And then something hit her. Maybe she ought to check he wasn’t bleeding or worse. She cast a suspicious glance down at his lips. They had a nice, smooth shape, but not even close to the gentle Kyne’s bow bend that hers were graced with. That was sort of good though, because men shouldn’t have prettier mouths than women. That just felt unfair and was the cause of much embarrassing staring: Ignatia could attest to that personally.

Leaning down, she tried to listen to any breathing happening through his nose but either he wasn’t or it was too gentle for her to distinguish it from the crackling of the bonfire next to them. Ignatia suppressed the sudden urge to find a way to kill the blaze and instead carefully grasped the man’s chin, one finger touching his lower lip and pulled it down a bit. Leaning a bit closer still, she listened for his breathing while feeling distinctly awkward. Here she was, in the middle of a bloody ruined temple on Solstheim, checking for signs of life in a weird stranger passed out on the ground and weren’t his lips just really soft?

…What the fuck, scratch that last bit and just—

She blinked and then focused. Yeah, she’d just felt a gentle breath tickle her ear again and there was the faintest of movements from the fabric covering his chest. Okay, she was good. Ignatia quickly straightened back up and rubbed a hand over her face because she felt stupidly close to a blush. She usually didn’t have guys whisper in her ear. It was just… too close for comfort and for some Divines known reason caused her skin to heat up. Although how much honestly depended on the guy and his voice.

Just to be certain he didn’t have a gaping wound from the blunt force she’d applied to his head, Ignatia pushed back the hood covering it. He had short, nearly pitch black hair but the firelight revealed some glints of chocolate, something that implied he would have dark brown highlights under the sun if Ignatia was any judge. Not about to waste any more time than she already had, she pushed her hand in under his head. Lifting it up carefully, she tried her best to spot any injury with eyes and carefully roaming fingers. He did have fairly soft hair, she confessed. Not that that was the point of all this. He did _seem_ all right though.

Laying his head back against the stone floor, Ignatia regarded Mr Ugly-mask once again before slipping her gaze onto the piece that had afforded him the temporary name. After a second’s deliberation she slipped both the face piece and the hood into her rucksack with a heavy sigh and began the rest of the trek out of the temple with a far bigger and heavier piece of loot than she’d ever expected to come across.

At one point she even considered stripping him just to see if he was possibly wearing any more armour than the few pieces that were visible to her. She didn’t though. She just cursed him instead. A lot. Brynjolf had been right, the flipping cock of a man! She had never felt small next to any man that wasn’t an Altmer and even then it wasn’t truly small because their build was usually lighter than, say, a Nord’s. But this sack of potatoes she was dragging around…  For fuck’s sake, he was both a head taller _and_ blessed with the same sturdy build as the natives of Skyrim.  And he didn’t have the decency to have even the tiniest sharpening at the tip of his ears or tilt of his eyes to indicate a man-mer heritage. He was just _big._

It took a while, and she garnered a few scrapes and bruises but at long last she was in the entrance corridor once more. Ignatia swore again when she finally saw the light of day winking back at her through the doors into the temple. At least she knew no one had been by because that door was still in the same position she’d left it. Well… if someone _had_ come by, it was a bit unlikely that they’d close it and possibly lock her inside. They’d be out there waiting to chew her head off or something though.

There was no one waiting for them up on the temple’s platform and for that, Ignatia was grateful. She wasn’t sure what she was happier about though: being able to keep the few pieces she’d found in the ruin or not have any questions thrown at her about Mr Ugly-mask.

The sun had crawled into a position that indicated sometime past noon if she wasn’t off. Dumping her burden onto the platform, she dropped her own ass beside him with a low moan of a curse. She’d actually run out of  vocabulary in that department by now, something that told her the trip through the ruin had been far longer than she’d realised, especially while encumbered like this. That or her patience had escaped her when her adrenaline shot sky-high and she clocked him. Digging out her phone from her pack told her the estimation of the hour had been pretty spot on. It was lunch. No wonder she was getting cranky.

Rubbing at her face after stuffing the phone away again, Ignatia cast a sidelong glance at Mr Ugly-mask. They were out now. She could leave him here… It wasn’t like he was stuck in pitch darkness with no direct path out or anything! But then she’d have to give back his stuff… Loser weepers, finders keepers and all that, but… she _did_ knock him out. And why? Because she didn’t know what in Oblivion he was.

_I guess I owe him one for that. A small one though!_ Ignatia relented with a sigh and got to her feet again. Maybe she was going soft? Or maybe she just needed to eat to get back on top of her game.

She had some food in her car…

Ignatia eyed the unconscious man beside her then heaved a tired sigh and began the trip back to her vehicle, trying to not hit his head, shoulders, arms, well, _any_ part of him, really. There was a lot of him to go around though. When she got back, she was going to get herself a bloody Elsweyrian massage because her muscles were going to be sore. Once they finally reached the car, Ignatia cleared out the back seats, dumping the cooler in the front passenger seat and the rest of the equipment in the boot. For a second, she considered dumping Mr Ugly-mask in the boot instead but scrapped that idea before she grew too attached to it. Getting him into the car was the last hurdle and when done she jumped into the driver’s seat. But then she sat there, staring at him in the rear-view mirror.

What if he wasn’t so happy once he woke up? To be fair, she wouldn’t have been too happy if she was in his shoes but he wouldn’t attack her in a moving vehicle, right? She frowned at him as a low, troubled groan built at the back of her throat. Mayyyyybeeee…

Ignatia’s eyes slowly crawled from the mirror over the dashboard to finally land on the glove compartment and stayed there. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment then reached over and dug out a pair of handcuffs. Once she had her strange passenger cuffed to the base of the front passenger seat, she felt a bit better.

The drive back to Raven Rock Harbour was uneventful. It was when she was buying a ticket for the ferry back that things got interesting. The guy behind the counter of the drive-through ticket desk cast a questioning glance at her still unconscious loot before his eyes travelled back to Ignatia who grinned at him. She’d stopped the car before she reached the town and draped a blanket from the boot over her passenger as well as dropped his own hood over his eyes.

“He says I tire him out but I swear he does it more easily to himself,” she told the sales assistant cheerfully but kept her voice suitably low.

“I bet. What did you guys do, considering he’s out cold despite all this noise?” the Dunmer asked but his tone of voice made it sound as though he was inquiring more out of necessity since he started the conversation.

“The usual people come to this rock for, I’d assume? Climbed some mountain, hiked through the wilderness,” Ignatia replied with a shrug as she got her card handed back to her. “Stayed up half the night like you do when you’re in college.” The mer raised a dubious nut-brown brow at that and Ignatia threw him a suggestive grin, adding on a wink for good measure. She was pretty sure he grasped the insinuation that it wasn’t the dance floor of some club they’d been hitting because there was a flare of burgundy spreading over his dark grey cheeks as he waved her along under the pretence of wanting to serve the next customer. Ignatia turned her eyes forward and put the car into motion again, grinning to herself this time. Some things just worked like a charm, every amusing time.

The ferry took off on time and they were an hour into the ride, Ignatia having thrown her feet up on top of the cooler still occupying the front passenger seat and reading a magazine, when a light tapping caused her to jump. Turning around halfway, she spotted the ferry attendant outside the car and heaved a relieved sigh. She’d thought it might be her loot waking up or something. Moving carefully, she extracted herself from her seat and got out of the vehicle. She didn’t say anything until she had the door firmly shut.

“You scared me,” she accused the Nord with a slight frown and he bowed his head in apology.

“Pardon, ma’am, just checking up on you.” He sounded more genuine than the sales attendant had so Ignatia accepted it with a nod. “It’s suggested that all customers spend the ride up on the main deck though.”

Ignatia raised an inquiring brow. “Is it a requirement?”

“No, ma’am, just a suggestion,” the attendant replied with a shake of his blond head.

“Then, if it’s all the same to you,” she threw a glance at her unconscious passenger as she spoke, “I think I’ll stay with my partner.” She threw the Nord a grin. “We’ve been hiking for the last few days.”

The man returned her smile with a toothy one. “Oh, aye. Solstheim has a good many natural beauties to appreciate. Hope you steered clear of them old structures though.”

Ignatia faked a frown at him and leaned against the car, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Because they’re historical landmarks?”

“Nah.” The Nord chuckled as he smiled. “The old folks say many of those places harbour dark magic. That big ruin almost in the middle of the island? They say that place in particular is cursed since ancient times,” he told her with a shrug as Ignatia forced her grin to grow wider in factitious amusement over ‘the old folks’ superstitions’. Internally she was both sweating and swearing.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! Cursed? Maybe not anymore… because you have the bleeding curse snoozing in your back seat, don’t ya!?_ her mind screamed at her as she laughed right along to something the attendant had said but she’d missed. When his laughter quieted, she cleared her throat. “I think I’ll go back inside and see if my partner has had his fill of the z’s soon,” she said and the attendant gave a wave of his hand. She didn’t even register what the Nord’s reply was, beyond the fact that it was positive, before she got back inside the car. Once the door was closed though, she began wondering if she shouldn’t just lock it down and head upstairs since she was effectively sitting next to ‘The Curse’.

A stray thought of trying to get him upstairs and dumping him overboard flitted through her mind but Ignatia shook her head sharply, sending it flying. No. She couldn’t perform cold-blooded murder. Few things paid enough to have that on your head forever. She wasn’t the religious sort but, eh… some things you just didn’t do no matter what you believed in. And so far the worst this weirdo had done was to state he’d dropped out of Oblivion when she nabbed that creepy book.

Ignatia spent the rest of the ferry ride back to mainland Tamriel alternating between staring at her magazine and Mr Ugly-mask’s face while thinking that she sincerely needed a new name for him now that the mask had come off. She didn’t poke him even once though. She was going to let that sleeping bear lie for as long as possible. Or at least until she figured out what to do with him, something that was proving difficult.

It was mid-afternoon when she disembarked from the boat and quickly got them on the road towards Solitude. Depending on how the traffic turned out to be, she might stop for the night at some motel near Dawnstar. It was the midpoint of the journey and honestly seemed like her best bet but what about her passenger? Ignatia moved the rear-view mirror to spy at him. Could she actually stop for the night and—

“Holy, fucking Divines!” she screamed and almost stood on the breaks, causing the car to hiccup in the middle of the motorway as she whipped around in her seat to meet a pair of pitch black eyes. And it wasn’t _just_ his irises that were pure black; even the whites of the eyes were onyx. Time seemed to slow but then his eyes flipped towards the front window and _how_ could she discern the iris in those eyes!? Ignatia whipped back around to follow his gaze even as her mind sputtered impossibilities at her.

She managed to steady the car just in time before she grazed another vehicle to their right. She took a deep, harsh breath. She needed to focus. She needed to drive. She was on the gods damned road and— A metallic noise came from behind and her eyes were immediately drawn to the rear-view mirror again. Her passenger was still lounging on the back seats, leaning up, supporting himself on the arm that wasn’t chained to the metalwork underneath the front passenger seat. Part of her mind had registered that that was what he’d done moments before as well but the eyes, and the fact that he was awake at all, had severely jolted her.

The noise came again, chasing a tingling sensation that rushed down her spine like a waterfall crashing down on your head. She couldn’t see what he was doing but based on where he was looking and the sound… He was poking at the handcuff. _No_ , she shook her head, _he won’t get that loose anytime—_

**CRACK!**

Ignatia froze. Even though her muscles felt like solid ice over steel, her blood was beginning to rush in her veins and her heart to pump faster. No. He hadn’t… He _couldn’t_ … Suddenly she was mobile again, twisting in her seat to stare at the man sitting upright in her back seat, a handcuff with a broken chain dangling forlornly from his wrist. The metal looked as though it had somehow grown fragile and been shattered. Letting go of the gear stick, Ignatia frantically pawed at her side until she managed to jerk the jacket up over her gun and pull it out of its holster.

With a death grip on both steering wheel and gun, she twisted back around and pointed the weapon at someone who she obviously should have tied down harder! _Like, maybe you should have hog tied him!_ her mind screeched at her. He was regarding her with a bucket load more calm than she currently felt in possession of. His eyes flowed from her face to the handgun and he didn’t appear impressed. He actually didn’t seem threatened at all. His odd black eyes kept flickering to the front window instead and Ignatia couldn’t refrain from having her gaze playing the ping pong match alongside him once or twice.

“What is happening?” His voice was still the deep baritone of before but with the mask gone, the faintly sonorous quality to it was gone as well. Ignatia stared at him though.

“What’s…?” she parroted but her voice died before she could finish the sentence, only to return with a vengeance a very fast heartbeat later. “What do you mean ‘what’s happening’!? What the fuck is up with your eyes?” she hissed desperately at him, waving the gun in the general direction of the upper half of his face. He frowned at the piece of metal and some part of whatever sanity that hadn’t left Ignatia at that point told her not to wave loaded guns so close to another person.

And then all bets were off as he was suddenly leaning forward, hand reaching out. Ignatia physically jumped in her seat, pulling back in the same go, which made the car swerve violently to the side. The tires squealed in protest, horns blared all around them and the Imperial had to tear her eyes off of her strange passenger to look at the road ahead while she righted the vehicle. A quick jerk of her head over her shoulder made her pause and do a double take. The weirdo was clinging to the back seat for dear life. Fair enough, he wasn’t secured with a seatbelt and the car had just more or less jumped half a lane to the left but there was no reason for his eyes to be that wide now when he hadn’t reacted to the gun earlier. Talk about weird priorities!

“All right; hint! Don’t scare the driver!” she snarled at him in agitated startlement as the initial shot of adrenaline began to wear off, all the while ignoring any part of the blame she might carry for that little scene. “I don’t want to be hamburger and neither, I’m pretty sure, do you! So, please sit still until we stop, okay?” He gave her a very terse nod that appeared to be more due to how he was staring at the road ahead rather than being annoyed with her. “Great! We’re in a moving vehicle, you know…” Ignatia continued while she honestly felt like pulling over – however impossible that’d now be on a motorway – because trying to drive while feeling like she should be keeping her full attention, and gun, focused on him wasn’t doing her driving skills any favours.

Then his question came back to her. “As for what’s happening? Why don’t you tell me how you managed to break the handcuffs?” she demanded as she kept glancing into the rear-view mirror just for her continued reassurance that he was sitting pretty. Pretty _still_ that is.

She caught him casting a glance at the metal still attached to his wrist at that, as though he’d forgotten it was there or wasn’t sure that that was what she’d meant. He _had_ said he was from Oblivion, but…

“Concentrated ice magic.”

The blunt response had her staring incredulously into the rear-view mirror. He had just not… Her attention whipped back onto the road for a second to keep them on track before she sent him a glare through the mirror.  “What do you take me for?” she snorted irritably even as her mind reminded her once more about the Oblivion comment. _Magicka hasn’t been prolific on Nirn for centuries,_ she argued mentally with the faintest of shakes of her head. But then again, the inhabitants and rulers of Oblivion as well as those of Aetherius and beyond hadn’t been active on Nirn for… about as long if not more. _Shit._

“A child perhaps.” His reply to her earlier – and rhetoric thank you very much! – statement garnered him another glare. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic or teasing though, the arrogant ass.

Ignatia set her eyes on the road and floored it, overtaking another nearby car a little too close even for her comfort. It resulted in a strangled noise from behind her though, making her feel vindicated (if childishly so but she wasn’t going to tell him that!). “All right, so, what’s this about Oblivion then?” she demanded as she set them in the correct lane again before returning most of her focus to him. “You’re from that place?”

“I am from Nirn. I was detained in the realm of Apocrypha.” He made it sound as though everyone should know what he meant. Ignatia snorted softly at him, her eyes swiftly flicking to the side as a sign sped by them almost too fast for her to catch.

“And how long were you in there?”

There was a momentary pause behind her but either she focused on his face too late to say what his expression at her question had been or he hadn’t revealed much to begin with. He did answer though, his voice even, calm and sure. “Since before the end of the dragons’ rule.”

It took a second for the words to sink in, for information from history lessons more than a decade old to resurface from their dusty corner, but when they all did, Ignatia’s eyes widened.

“YOU WHAT!?”

Tires screeched.


	3. Igni's sorrow

 

They’d almost caused a crash. Almost.

 _No, wait. Scratch that._ He _almost caused one,_ Ignatia thought surly as she took the exit off the motorway. The ancient turd could have the blame for that one all to himself. _Ancient_ being the key word here. He said he last saw Nirn before the mythical Dragon Wars? When _was_ that anyway? The current era was the ninth and if her memory, and general disinterest in history, didn’t fail her completely, then that was a plausible total of… Ignatia frowned at the road ahead of her. Uh… It was… Damned math!

And then it snapped into place. It was—!

…Something that sounded like a flatlining medical instrument went off in Ignatia’s brain as she stared dumbly at the road ahead. Some distant yet tiny part of her mind commented happily on how good it was that the road ahead was straight right now because if a bend came up in the near future, she would have a chance of twenty percent to turn the vehicle.

“You have been in there for at least five and a half millennia?” The Imperial asked incredulously as her eyes slowly crawled over the windowpane in front of her and up to the rear-view mirror to meet the man’s dark gaze. And there they sat, simply staring, until something registered in the peripheral vision of Ignatia’s bright amber eyes, causing her to turn back around and take the upcoming curve. When the road straightened out again, she drove the car up to the side as quickly as possible and stopped, turning on the flashing warning lights to make sure no one else drove into them. Then she turned in her seat. Her gun, now half forgotten, lay beside her and was almost getting sat on as she stared at the _extremely_ normal looking person occupying her backseat. Normal _in spite_ of everything that was currently happening.

…Then again, dropping out of a book in an ancient ruin wasn’t much of a start if he was gunning for _normal_ to begin with.

Since the car, and thus the apparent distraction the moving vehicle posed, had stopped, he was now able to concentrate on other things and used that focus to regard her with a thoughtful, almost indifferent calm. He did keep squinting every so often though but broke out of it a heartbeat later as though it was a reflex that he wanted to stifle. The silence stretched between them and she was about to frown at him when a thought hit her.

He’d apparently not seen this place in… a _very_ long time – to put it mildly! Provided, you know, this was all true and she hadn’t hit her head in that ruin and was now having a weird sort of coma dream or something. All while sloooowly bleeding out and all. The possibility of being found as a drying husk a decade or so later wasn’t precisely all that attractive. Great. Depressing alternatives were such fantastic additions to her day.

The fast and unpredictable movements of the car frightened him to some degree if she was any judge and even the smallest things around him had to appear strange, unfamiliar yet at the same time not. And unless he had a problem with his eyesight, the brightness of the day could be causing him irritation as well. All of this, and probably some other things she hadn’t considered, she would probably also have tried to not show any overt weakness had their roles been reversed. Although would she have been as successful as he had nearly been? She’d like to say yes but, honestly? She wasn’t so sure.

“Time moves differently in Oblivion.” His words almost made her jump. She hadn’t expected him to answer her, not really. He’d remained silent so long Ignatia thought he was just going to ignore her questions and keep doing his best impression of a rock. So when he _did_ say something, in that deep voice that boomed in her little car, it had startled her. He hadn’t directly answered her question anyway and now had a frown, however faint, puckering his brow. “As such, I can only assume what you have provided to be correct.” He had a really weird and formal way of speaking but… If he _really_ was that old, wasn’t his speech pattern a given?

That didn’t change the fact that his answer didn’t disprove her nearly half a dozen millennia old guess… assumption. Whatever. “Erm… right.” It felt like silence was going to descend upon them again unless something more was added. Politeness won out. Her aunt would have been proud. “I’m Ignatia Carvain.”

Since she’d drawn the lines between the strange man’s old-fashioned mannerisms and her noble aunt, her mind wanted to greet him in a more appropriate style but being seated made any attempt at genteel behaviour awkward. Not to mention she’d left that life behind her in Cyrodiil. She ended up inclining her head respectfully to him even as her more free-spirited side elbowed its way to the front and demanded to know why the mental nostalgia trip should afford the weirdo such decorum. That part of her was right, of course, but the action was already completed.

He regarded her in calm silence for a heartbeat, making her wonder if he was going to react at all, but then he returned the gesture. The quiet flair with which he delivered it was enough to tell her he was used to this sort of conduct, even if his was just the ghost of a bow compared to hers. And then his reply in that all too smooth voice drove home the point further. “Miraak… of Solstheim.”

No last name.

Also, he’d paused there, as though choosing to add on the last bit. As if that part should be obvious? This time it was Ignatia’s turn to stare but she did it less gracefully, more openly. _Well, fuck,_ her mind intoned eloquently. This day was just getting better and better… not. At least she had his real name. Provided he was telling her the truth but who in Oblivion knew at this point? The one thing that spoke for him telling the truth was she couldn’t find any lie in his expression, no tells whatsoever regardless of their short acquaintance, and that he’d been fairly polite up until now. Still, a name was a name. That was something, right?

…Unless he annoyed her all the way to the Akaviri Confederate States and back. Then he was… She’d find something to call him.

For now though, meeting his eyes brought forth a multitude of questions. As well as another observation. The black hue that stained the whites of his eyes almost appeared to be ghosting over the surface of them, as though it was stuck to the retina rather than underneath it. As if a good scrub of his eyes could remove it. The colour seemed to have seeped far deeper into his iris though, but it couldn’t hide the tired air in them. Or was that just her mind superimposing that feeling upon them because that kind of age would demand it? That, however, seemed like a question he wasn’t going to answer, so Ignatia decided to start with something she might have more luck with.

“So, how come you decided to drop back in on Nirn right now?” And on top of her, but she didn’t add that. Aside from that, Oblivion was the realm of the Daedra, wasn’t it? Ruled by the Daedric Princes or something? Gah, she should have paid more attention in class to things like this! He said he’d been detained there. Detained usually implied ‘held against your will’. Was that just a way of wording it or…? Because, honestly, she could do without someone who was trying to worship ancient shit.

He frowned then, dark brows dipping, and she felt like staring because, hey! Apparently his face _could_ do more than one expression. Who’da thought? “Was it not you who unbarred the way by releasing the lock held in place on the tome of Hermaeus Mora?”

Ignatia blinked once at him. Oh yeah, that book. The one she’d swiped before dragging his ass out. The one that had been tied shut. The one that had _started glowing_ a sickly sort of green as soon as she lifted the freaking cover! For fuck’s sake! She grinned cheerily at him, plastering the well-rehearsed expression on her face. “Oh, that book? It wasn’t that difficult to open, you know,” she challenged because moments ago he had broken a reinforced steel chain on a pair of police-issue handcuffs like it was a dry twig – supposedly with magic – and now he wanted to make her think he couldn’t have broken that… spell, or whatever it was, on his own? Please! She wasn’t stupid. Besides, no one could play sass master like she could.

A short pause followed during which the man in the backseat slightly narrowed his strange, black eyes at her… almost as though he knew what was going through her head. His next words just confirmed it. “…And yet you claim magic does not exist.”

 _Bloody—!_ Ignatia’s mouth twisted just a tiny bit as she strained to not outright glare at him. He just kept evading! But she could play the ping-pong-conversation game, too. She just wasn’t up for it right now. “I’m just magical like that,” she told him with a sharp grin while stifling the urge to clock him with her gun. Again. She wasn’t sure that was the smartest move anyway, even if she could somehow manage it. Once? Fair enough, he could probably ignore that, but twice? She had no idea if he’d retaliate and if so, would he just give tit for tat in that case or go further? He _had_ just spent millennia in Oblivion and he was from the dark old days when people lived and died by the sword and, apparently, magic. What guarantee did she have he wouldn’t do something… a bit more gruesome?

Then again, she had a gun. Even if it was more for her safety, she did have a gun and she’d been waving it in his face moments ago. Still, there was no guarantee he knew it was a weapon but she suspected he was intelligent enough to have figured it out. That thought made her feel a bit better, as incongruous as it was.

 _An impasse,_ she acquiesced mentally as the staring match continued, one sporadically broken by her competitor squinting. She was used to dealing with people who had more reactions and expressions than this block of ice, her mind groused as she exhaled a sigh.

“All right, since I don’t want to sit here all day; let’s settle something right now.” Ignatia combed a hand up through her dark ruby-auburn hair, catching the locks framing her face. “Are we going to have an issue?” she demanded bluntly as she cast a short but pointed glance at the cuff still attached to his wrist.

What she received was not what she’d expected. Miraak’s frown was deeper this time around as he studied her, expression slightly confused, a glimmer of faint surprise evident in his strange black eyes. Her words couldn’t have been that weird, could they? “You wish to have… an issue with me? Here?” His voice was calm, the words slowly delivered, precisely enunciated and it honestly sounded as though he was doubting he had heard her correctly.

“What—? No.” How hard could it be to understand? “I want to know if we’re going to have an issue due to the initial part of our meeting,” she explained as she felt tired exasperation rise in her throat and threaten to bubble up and out of her in yet another harsh sigh.

The big Nord shifted in his seat, never breaking his gaze from the woman in front of him. He still looked just a bit… dubious, as if he wasn’t entirely sure she meant what she was saying. Conveniently, an excerpt from some old history book or the other in her aunt’s private library finally crawled to the forefront of her mind.

“ _His Grace Antonidas expired that same night, leaving no issue. Thus the duchy of Bruma passed on to his sister.”_

No.

Ignatia’s eyes were slowly growing wider.

 _Oh no no no no,_ never _going to happen_! her mind blared at her. He could not have meant… He’d misunderstood and thought she wanted to have a kid with him?!

“Whatever you’re thinking, that is _not_ what I meant!” She threw up her hands and gestured vehemently in the negative while the feeling of heat, most likely also accompanied by a strong splash of colour, ascended her heavily freckled cheeks. She couldn’t keep meeting his eyes and slapped a hand over hers so that she didn’t have to _see_ him and this whole mess. She needed some sort of respite from this day. She twisted back around in her seat, as if that would help much. “For fu— No! By the Divines!” She was waving a hand in the air but she still hadn’t removed the other from her eyes. This was _embarrassing_! “Not that kind of issue, no! Are you going to be pissy that I hit you? You know…” The moving hand took on a less distinct wave as Ignatia’s mind fumbled for words. She was starting to feel more embarrassed by the minute about how that incident had gone down and now… _THIS_! Unless she stopped thinking about it, the colour assailing her face was just going to deepen. “My knocking you out cold— unconscious,” she ground out at last as she fought down the blush eating at her cheeks.

Gods! She'd hit him upside his head and now he thought she wanted… GAH! What sort of courting had been the norm back in his day!? He really had to be from that ancient time when primitives ran around in furry skirts without the decency of underwear if he thought that!  Although… his robes didn't look _that_ primitive, she’d give him that. It didn’t have to mean he had the decency to— No! Ignatia felt like hitting her head against the steering wheel but refrained. If just barely. _That_ train of thought was stopping right there though. It was _not_ allowed to go anywhere, period. There was enough crap crashing her party today.

Miraak seemed to regain his equilibrium before her. Something finally shifted in his eyes. “You are wondering if there will be a conflict. If I have taken offence and will retaliate.”

“YES!” she shot back agitatedly as she finally managed to look at him again without blushing. Maybe that was a mistake. He was studying her now, her face to be exact. One of his brows was cocked ever so faintly at her and if the reason for it was what she thought it was, she was just _maybe_ going to hit him over the head once more; only this time harder because perhaps it would knock some sense into him. Even if attempting to smack him again was inadvisable… Ignatia flipped both her hands into the air; there wasn’t enough space to throw them heavenwards after all. The discernible expression on his face – what little he showed! – indicated he was amused by her reaction. “Issue, conflict, whatever floats your boat, but yes, that is what I meant.” She narrowed her eyes on him, just in case he still thought she meant the _other_ meaning.

He transitioned effortlessly from that little debacle to another. His voice was that smooth dark silk again as he sat back in the seat, hands lax on his knees as he continued to regard her, head slightly to one side as he explained coolly, “My passage has been obstructed ever since my last attempt to return to Nirn when the Oghma Infinium was used as a barricade. You managed to undo that blockade and as such it would be uncouth of me to cause you harm without provocation.”

Her expression went from agitated to confused at that. Without provocation? And rendering someone unconscious wasn’t provocation enough? Once again, this guy had some weird… morals. She gave herself a mental shake and just decided to go with it. He seemed serious enough and that was what mattered, right?

“All right, since you’re awake and vertical now, how about you buckle up so we can get going?” If he had any issues with it being more rhetorical in nature than a polite request, he didn’t show it. He honestly seemed to let very little show upon his scarred face. Studying him now once she’d gotten her reassurances, she confessed it was actually rather nice to see someone else with scars upon their person, and on their face at that. Nowadays, people usually didn’t get them. At least not that many or big. There were three running horizontally across the left side of his face with two of them gracing the upper part of his cheek and the last down just below his mouth. The only thing to mar the right side of his face was a thin silvery line running diagonally from just beyond the corner of his mouth almost all the way up to the top of his cheekbone. They didn’t really detract much from his appearance – he had good enough features for that – but maybe that was just her subconscious talking. It was what she’d told herself many times when she acquired the first scar that graced her face. After that… it was just shrug and get on with it. You only got scarred if you were careless at work, or that was how she’d gotten hers anyway. It made her momentarily wonder how he’d obtained his. _If_ they now all were from before he got stuck in Oblivion.

“I assume you are not talking about my belt.” His reply broke through her thoughts. She was beginning to despise this incessant need to stare stupidly at him for one reason or another. At least she’d managed to catch herself before it happened this time.

“Erh, no. I meant the seatbelt,” she explained while pointing to the black contraption. “It’s used to hold a person in place while the vehicle is moving so that if shit… if, in the unlikely event,” because she was a _good_ driver, thank you very much!, “we have an accident, it’ll keep you from being bludgeoned or pierced by anything in the car or going through the wind… window,” she finished as she pointed at the windscreen. Gods damn it, it was hard catching all the words and phrases he might not understand.

“I am not so frail as to come to harm that easily when the danger is obvious.” There had been the faintest, _faintest!_ , of pauses in his words before he mentioned the last bit about obvious dangers. Ignatia swore he must have added it on at last minute, remembering how she had evidently succeeded making herself into a threat to him since she’d managed to take him out. It was a nice save and she would have missed it… if she hadn’t been paying such close attention to him. She was about to sass him in spite of the save but he continued before she could.

“To that effect, where are my spaulders?” he asked, his gaze unwavering as it stayed on her, Ignatia blinking her own in confusion.

Spaulder… Oh! He meant the obnoxious shoulder pieces. She’d almost forgotten the terminology because they didn’t often get armours like that at the Treasury. “They were a bother and in the way as I hauled you from the ruin.” At his eyes narrowing, making her skin prickle as if she’d been caressed by a ghost, she levelled a defensive frown at him. “They’re in the car,” she told him somewhat testily. It appeared to appease him because his weird, dark gaze grew less intense and with it the air felt oddly lighter as well – as though a thunderstorm had rolled by without letting loose its wrath. The Imperial refrained from rolling her shoulders _just_ barely as her mind grumbled in aggravation and silence filled the car.

Ignatia forced herself to regard the tall man once more – she needed to get back on track! – and then the seatbelt nearest him. Did she feel comfortable enough to have him behind her? …Not quite yet. “You know what?” she said while she shook her head. “Let’s move you around.” She patted the edge of the front passenger seat before quickly opening her door and slipping out. It didn’t take too long to get him out of the car and the cooler into the spot he had just vacated but when she held the door open and gestured for him to get in, Miraak remained where he stood.

Ignatia was once again struck by their height differences. He was easily a head taller than her. She usually wasn’t forced to look up quite this much to meet another’s eyes. It was a weird feeling, slightly unnerving if she had to put a finger on it, but in a good or bad way? She wasn’t sure. Her Altmer friend had mentioned something a while back about finding someone who was taller than her and by a lot. Eyrenni hadn’t complained about the height though but rather seemed happy about it. The mer had said something about it making her feel more feminine than a pair of heels ever could. As heels weren’t something Ignatia wore often, it’d been a difficult thing to empathise with but standing here staring at this guy certainly gave her an idea about what Eyrenni had been talking about. Although they could sincerely do without the staring.

Ignatia frowned at the silence and Miraak but she only had the chance to open her mouth before he spoke, raising one of his hands. Maybe he’d thought just standing there would have made her read his mind or something. “This… cuff, Ignatia.” Some tiny muscles in her lower back twitched when he said her name. It wasn’t an uncomfortable reaction but… just strange. Unexpected. Not many used her full given name.

She rolled her shoulders. “What about it?” she challenged blandly.

There was a constant frown to his face out in the direct light and he appeared to be putting some effort into keeping his focus on her but there was another movement to his brows, however faint, as if he found it frustrating to have to stand here and explain further. “I would have you remove it now.” It _didn’t_ really serve a purpose anymore, no. The chain was broken after all! But…

She gave a nonchalant shrug. “It doesn’t harm anyone just hanging there. We can get to it later.” She could stand here all day. She was in no rush… She’d just prefer not to. And if she was honest about it, him wearing the handcuff – even if it was utterly useless now – just made her feel a bit better. Like a safety measure. Maybe it’d serve as a reminder to him that he’d better keep himself calm and—

Miraak was raising his other hand and it had started glowing with a faintly blue light, as though surrounded by an aura. Ignatia stared, golden eyes slowly going round and her mouth dropping open as the glow at his fingertips gained in strength. He didn’t even need to touch the metal before the frost crystals began to coat it but once he did put his fingers to the circle trapping his wrist it went downhill for the hardened steel. _Fast_. Grasping the white, hoarfrost-covered metal between his thumb and first two fingers, he twisted his hand and _SNAP_ went the cuff. Just like it had to have done earlier in the car.

Ignatia managed to keep all her muscles in check as she gaped. Well, short of the involuntary but thankfully inaudible swallow her throat made once she closed her mouth with a click of her teeth. He was taller than her though; she hoped he missed it, considering he was meeting her gaze.

“Next time, Ignatia, it will not be a request,” he told her with that calm voice of his before dropping the remnants of the ruined cuff on the ground and carefully ducked back into the car, now in the front passenger seat. The little twitch that had come from him saying her name again was drowned out by the indignity of his words. Request? If that had been a request, she was the next dragonborn! She very nearly flipped up her middle finger at him but managed to restrain herself… _Just_ barely. Her self-control was getting a core workout today apparently and if the start was any indication, it was far from over.

Ignatia slammed the door shut on him a bit harder than necessary before stalking around the vehicle. He had some weird ways when it came to wording appeals. He was some five millennia old though… What was he going to do on Nirn after all that time in… Apocrypha, was it? She paused momentarily in front of her open door. If she just dropped him off somewhere and drove away… What would happen? Would she read some weird or horrible headline in the papers within the next few days? “Half of Whiterun in flames”, “the populace of Riverwood gone without a trace”, that sort of thing?

She may be among the part of the population that considered themselves selfish but not even she could justify the risk of that if the risk to her person wasn’t greater than a bit of frustration. She’d opened that book, so… she would keep the weirdo that popped out of it. At least until she knew what to do with him or something! She’d figure it out on the way to Solitude for sure, she consoled herself as she got into the car. They just needed to get a move on again.

Ignatia climbed back in her seat and got the tall man, whose head wasn’t that far from the ceiling she noticed, secured with a seatbelt at long last. Bloody ordeal it had been to get to this point since he woke up, really. She offered up a second’s thought to the broken handcuffs, what remained in her car and what was left on the roadside.

 _Those things aren’t easy to come by_ , Ignatia thought glumly as she fastened her own seatbelt and grabbed her tablet from its mounting above the dashboard. She frowned at the screen as she tapped at it. It felt, almost sounded, as though the whole car was humming a bit louder, as if raring to go. Maybe that was just her imagination though?

After the sat-nav app had finished setting up a new route to get back onto the highway, they were off again. The idea had been to turn north after passing Fort Dunstad, spend the night in some motel on the outskirts of Dawnstar and go via High Gate and the coast but now, with her guest, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. On the one hand, she’d prefer to arrive and deal with what came next after a good night’s sleep – or something akin to it – but on the other hand she’d like to get back and get this matter seen to as soon as possible… Whatever the solution to it now may be. They were right between Nightgate and Dunstad though, giving her plenty of time to decide.

As the day and drive wore on, Ignatia had to confess; watching Miraak was almost as entertaining as listening to music. Either it was the light or something around them, like the plane that passed by overhead, that had been a hoot. She’d almost not been able to keep from laughing that time. They hadn’t spoken too much – conversation topics had been hard to come up with – but the rather hilarious diversions he provided had been enough. If he’d known exactly how much they amused her, she thought he may have clammed up even more though. However, when they got close to the town of Fort Dunstad it had changed. It wasn’t fun anymore because it all went to Oblivion at that point.

“Could you unlock the screen so I can set a new course on the gps?” At the confused frown levelled her way, she gave a nod to the tablet while reminding herself she had to be very specific with her words around Miraak. “Tap the blank surface in the bottom right corner with a finger and it’ll react.” And then, just because she couldn’t help it, she threw a smile at him. “Like magic, only not.” Unless the narrowing of his eyes was due to the light, he’d caught the ghost of a teasing tone she’d allowed to sneak into her voice.

“Simply touch it?” He sounded sceptical. How else to explain it?

“It uses current, electricity,” she elaborated as he raised a hand. He paused with his finger a breath away from the touchscreen, glancing almost suspiciously at her. “It’s harmless to the touch. It’s like a minor shock of lightning.” That ought to do it, right? Apparently it did because Miraak touched the screen with the pad of his index finger… and it was followed by a sharp, static snarl, a harsh hiss and then a black screen from the tablet.

Ignatia nearly stood on the breaks. “What did you do?!” She almost screeched, staring at the suddenly very dead tablet with mounting horror. It wasn’t even the charcoal screen of powered down but the utter pitch of battery death. Or worse. Her baby!

“I touched it as you said,” he replied and the annoyance could be heard in his voice as well as seen in the frown gracing his features at the accusation and likely harsh way she had just spoken to him.

“No, you can’t _just_ have touched it!” she argued as she took one hand off of the wheel to flip the power switch on the off chance, on the _tiny_ possibility, that her immediate assumption was incorrect. It wasn’t. The screen remained dead. Ignatia stared. And then she had to whip her head back to the road and concentrate because if she stopped now, she was liable to jump the man sitting next to her. And not in the fun way!

 _Breathe,_ she reminded herself as she tried to calm down. Maybe she could fix it – whatever it was he’d done – once she had a moment’s peace and wasn’t on the road. She was good with tech. She had a lot of it at home. Surely she’d be able to figure out what the problem was if given some minutes alone with it. That, or Eyrenni would. _Eyrie…_ Ignatia gave a mental nod at that. Maybe she ought to drive by Eyrenni’s place. It’d be a minor detour but it’d probably be worth it. If anyone would have some idea about what to do with this… weirdo, it’d be the Altmer.

Never judge a book by its cover, Brynjolf had often said when Ignatia first started at the Treasury. That fully applied to the mer whose privileged background and life didn’t correspond with the woman’s resourcefulness and willingness to get her hands a bit dirty. In the figurative manner most of the time but given enough reason, Eyrenni would step into the literal dirt. It just had to be for a _good_ reason and the right people. And while Eyrenni was and could be many things – and half of them weren’t always expected – their shared past had taught Ignatia that she could usually count herself among those select few Eyrie would go a bit further for. It would seem the same phrasing about the book could be applied to Miraak, but if that was a good thing or not, Ignatia wasn’t sure of yet.

He appeared to be keeping his emotions and expressions in check – Ignatia refused to believe anything else because no man or mer could be _that_ collected and blank-faced at all times and he only appeared to show less and less as the hours passed! – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t just as easily pass for one of those barbarians she'd read about. He was big enough and there was a certain aura of… she wasn't sure what, only that it made her hair want to stand on end. There was possibly something more but she couldn’t put her finger on it, not with any certainty. What she was certain of though was that behind those black eyes of his, she could sense a sort of… calculated cunning; a sharp mind but he managed to mask that aura of danger fairly well. Only she had the intuition to know when she came face to face with it. This guy could make for a dangerous enemy – _could_ being the operative word because he seemed tame enough… for the moment. Discounting the fact he'd broken a _police-issued_ steel handcuff not long ago like it had been child’s play.

Maybe going to Eyrenni _was_ a good move…

If they hadn’t known each other for over a decade now, hadn’t been through all they had together, Ignatia would have considered not involving the redheaded mer simply because she wouldn’t have any way of explaining _how_ she’d gotten hold of the stranger beside her. Let alone why she’d been raiding an ancient ruin. She’d probably also not have done it due to not being able to estimate the danger to the mer’s person. As it stood though, they had seen enough shit in their life, hit enough clubs in the Imperial City in their youth and could prod each other mercilessly. If that didn’t mean she could go to Eyrenni with this problem, nothing did. Or at least she hoped so. This was by far the weirdest thing she would ever have brought to the mer’s attention and, Ignatia was pretty sure, vice versa.

She’d go to Eyrie. All she needed to do—

Ignatia had to clench the wheel hard to keep from reaching for a tablet that wouldn’t respond because it was, oh, how about DEAD!? …She was going to have to rely on signs, wasn’t she? Shit. She was too modern for this crap! She cast one last longing glance at her defunct tablet, sighed heavily then stiffened her resolve. She could do this. She _would_ do this. Piece of cake. Maps and signs had been in use for hundreds of years, right?

Ignatia endeavoured to ignore the man seated beside her for the rest of the ride as well as the fact that she drove a little faster and more recklessly than was her norm. When Fort Dunstad came closer, she kept a paranoid eye out for the signs directing her towards Morthal and Solitude, making sure she didn’t take the road leading towards Dawnstar instead. She gave the sign welcoming her to Hjaalmarch a baleful glare and pushed the accelerator down a little further, speeding up. She wouldn’t reach Solitude before dark but she would get there before it got too late for polite visitations. Miraak had, blessedly, kept to his side of the car and pretty quiet as well. He kept silently studying the landscape, places they passed, other cars and her but never said a word. That was all right by her!

The sign to Solitude was coming up, as was six o’clock. Ignatia frowned. She _could_ make it to Eyrie’s place before nine but just in case, she ought to give the mer a call, a heads up. Ignatia cast her bright amber gaze to where her phone lay in the small pocket wedged between the gear stick and panel with controls and the radio and snatched it up. She slowed the car back to the legal speed limit on the motorway just to be on the safe side as she pressed the power button to wake the little beauty up, all the while keeping her eyes on the road. She’d be damned if she would risk Miraak killing her phone by merely touching it.

No light played in the corner of her eye though.

The Imperial cast another quick glance at the phone as she pressed the button again. The screen remained black as Ignatia slowly felt her body go numb. No… No fucking way…

“Miraak…” She had to force herself to turn her eyes back onto the road as she slowly spoke his name; it came out far more calmly than she felt on the inside. The darkly dressed man moved in her peripheral vision, most likely turning to regard her. “Did you touch my phone?” Her voice was still slow, still fairly calm, but she couldn’t quite keep the faint note of panic out of it. She knew though, _knew_ he hadn’t touched it but she couldn’t keep from asking. She was actually hoping he’d say he might have brushed his fingers against it at some point but…

“I did not touch that… phone,” the man beside her replied, voice more blank and void of emotion than last time they spoke, the only exception being the last word that sounded as though he was tasting some sort of dish for the first time and wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not. Ignatia nodded numbly as she dropped the second piece of broken technology back into the compartment she’d nabbed it from.

Why did this keep happening? What was going to be next; the car?

That thought made her push the pedal down harder than before. It was done on reflex but when she noticed it, she didn’t slow down. Ignatia _just_ wanted to get to Eyrie’s house.

It felt like it was miles away and she wanted to get there before the next disaster hit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miraak's appearance was based on the looks Illitra gave him as she modded her game.


	4. The meaning of friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the limits of friendship and the benefits they afford us are tested in more ways than one. And a new turn of events is revealed.

  

The large villa standing in the suburb of Blue Heights was graced with floor to ceiling windows on the lower of the two levels, the upper sporting wider but not as tall ones instead, interspersed by a few bay windows. It didn’t stand out with its creamy façade, several feet wide pale granite porch and tall hedges though, not here. Blue Heights, named after the ancient royal residence of Solitude that had somehow weathered both time and refurbishments surprisingly well, was a suburb predominantly populated by those with higher income, fancy names or old money and most residents showed this off with large gardens decorated with artistic stone statuary, immaculate crushed shell and limestone driveways and unabashedly imposing grandiose houses.

The suburban residence of the Chief Ambassador to Skyrim from the Aldmeri Dominion, Auri’ada Balacyr, held a subtle kind of grandeur customarily demonstrated by families with old names and lineages, but whether that was due to personal taste or demanded by the owner’s position had never been made clear. Not that the ambassador had actually lived there for the last seven or eight years. She had either stayed in her luxurious flat in central Solitude or in the penthouse apartment in Whiterun, leaving her daughter in full control of this particular residence.

All things considered, Eyrenni didn’t feel it had been too out of the ordinary for her mother to do at the time, she mused as she sat in the master bedroom with a glass of wine and a book. Taking into account everything that she had been through up until they moved to Skyrim, the Altmer thought herself sufficiently experienced to have her own place at the time, even if she’d been no older than the human equivalent of twenty.

She smiled faintly as she raised the glass for another sip. It was always far more easy to tell humans what the equivalent age was for a mer rather than the actual years she had under her belt, which was thirty-nine as of a week or two ago. It meant that some of her closest friends had surpassed her by now as far as age went but that was to be expected, what with a mer’s longer life expectancy.

The sudden noise of a car nearby as well as the glare of headlights cutting across her ceiling made the fiery haired mer frown at her current page, throwing a glance at the stylish, mahogany-framed antique clock standing on the bedside table closest to her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe it was one of the neighbours? She sank further into the deep plum velvet cushions that padded the armchairs in her room and matched the cover of her four-poster bed. It was quarter to nine in the evening, no sane – or decent – person visited anyone now without having made arrangement first, she reasoned.

And then the doorbell chimed downstairs tossing that illusion of decorum right on its head.

Eyrie glared at the bedroom door where it stood open just an inch. Someone was just fucking with her, determined to prove her words wrong simply because she’d thought them, weren’t they? The only person she would expect to come around at this hour unannounced had a key after all, for goodness’ sake. She considered ignoring the door despite how the bay windows of her bedroom faced the driveway and the light in here would tell whoever was at the door that she was definitely home. Who could it be anyway? Not Kalla. Even if she had been let out from work early, the short Nord would, with ninety-five percent’s surety, have gone over to Bishop’s place, not come and visit Eyrie.

… _Especially_ if she’d been let out early from the club. That almost made the mer's lips twitch ever so faintly in a grin; at least one of her little plans was hatching out rather nicely, if she did say so herself. And she did say so.

“Eyrie!” The doorbell was joined by a familiar voice this time, causing the mer’s face to morph into a confused frown.

“Igni?” the Altmer muttered as she put down her glass of wine and instead grabbed the bookmark from the elegantly carved bedside table to her right. “What on Nirn…” Her friend hadn’t sounded fantastic if Eyrie was any judge of the strained tone of the Imperial's voice. When the doorbell chimed a third time the over-wrought ringer actually sounded tortured as well; as though it was screeching in agony! The Altmer jumped out of her seat, threw the book onto the chair and went to save her poor doorbell because Igni was apparently in a torturous mood, worryingly hysterical tone of voice aside.

“Eeeeeeyriiiiiiieeeeee!” Said person winced as she broke the sensible pace she had employed at the start and rushed from the bedroom instead, leaping for the wide, moonlight pale, birch wood staircase as soon as she reached it. She was glad she had toed off her heels earlier in the evening when she finished working because of the pace she had picked up and now the doorbell was really going off the rails. Shit! She was damned lucky the closest neighbour lived over twenty metres to either side of her, an estimation that included her and at least part of their garden. The Altmer also wondered how-in-Oblivion-loud Ignatia had to be yelling for her to hear the Imperial so blasted well.

“EYRIEEEE!” It was almost a shriek, borne out of desperation.

“I’m coming, gods bloody damn it! Stop murdering my doorbell!” the mer shouted in faintly agitated reply to the mounting wail as she hurried down the last steps and threw herself on the handle, jerking the door open as soon as the lock had been undone. Eyrie would have jumped to the side if she’d had the chance but Igni almost fell over the threshold as soon as the door came open – as though she'd been leaning on it – and all the mer could do was catch the shorter woman with a muttered oath. At least they didn’t end up on the floor, Eyrie noted, mildly appeased as she steadied her distraught friend before something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Turning towards the white painted wood of the front door, finely arched brows dipped in a frown. Had Ignatia been… clawing at it? Was that was she was seeing? Eyrie wasn’t sure but it looked _suspiciously_ like jagged nail marks on her front bloody door! What in Oblivion?! And then she suddenly had a face full of red haired Imperial blocking her view of the incriminating evidence.

 _Well,_ Eyrie acquiesced as she blinked sky blue eyes at the human, _she **does** look pretty close to hysterical._ That wasn’t really the norm despite how the mer could describe the other woman with terms like; wild, somewhat frivolous in manner if not with money, strong-willed, blunt and both willing and prone to cheating. Cheating was in fact how Eyrie had met Igni. Bishop had taken the mer to a place she’d been less than likely to ever visit on her own, even during her wilder – relatively speaking due to the company – youth. They’d spotted and extracted the younger teenager before things got… ugly, and that was putting it politely. And _then_ Bishop had taught Igni how to cheat _properly_. Eyrie still felt like shaking her head at that, but it had been the start of a soon almost thirteen years long and always loyal friendship. The time alone bought Ignatia a great deal of slack. The rest she bought by allowing Eyrie to mercilessly prod and tease her. It wasn’t the only one of the mer’s relationships that dealt in that currency either.

“What's the matter?” Eyrie finally managed to get a word in edgewise as the human woman was rambling on about… something. Damn, she should have been paying more attention rather than reminiscing!

Ignatia stared incredulously at the mer for the gently anxious tone she delivered the question in. _How_ could she be so calm?! Couldn’t Eyrie _see_ the monstrosity behind Igni’s back? The murderer! The vandal! The weirdo with _magic_! Who the fuck had magic anyway!? Magic didn’t exist, _shouldn’t_ exist, her mind wailed helplessly as she gripped Eyrie’s shoulders and pulled the woman closer. Their differences in height wasn’t that great, thankfully, but only because Eyrie, at six foot two and nearly a half inches, was short for an Altmer and Igni, who was just a hair over five feet and ten inches, was pretty tall for an Imperial woman.

“The matter,” the reason Igni didn’t get down to actually shaking Eyrie was because the mer had gripped the other woman's shoulders hard in return, “is _that_!” The Imperial whirled them both around before she tore her hands away so she could point, finger shaking, at what was standing a few feet down the Altmer’s stone paved driveway. By Ignatia's car actually. Eyrie blinked slowly at the black vehicle as she steadied her mind after the unexpected movement.

“It’s a man. A very tall one but a man all the same,” Eyrie observed with carefully affected calm because if she handed Igni any obvious or sarcastic statements right now… she feared she was going to get roughly shaken no matter how much she braced herself. But he was just a man as far as she could tell in the evening gloom, at least from where she stood; black hair, skin neither pale nor tanned or dusky. If anything, it was his clothes that appeared a bit… odd. Which begged the question of _where_ Igni had found him and why she had dragged him with her for long enough to become as agitated as she obviously was. If he was a threat to the Imperial, he'd certainly given up his advantage by allowing Igni well out of his reach.

“A-a _man_!?” Ignatia almost choked on the words, as if the tall male standing by her car were not, in fact, just a man but the bane of her very existence if not a frost troll. At long last, after _hours_ of tense waiting, here was a person she could lose her shit around and not worry about anything blowing up. _Again_! Because the car had blown up. Well, not really – it had died but she’d managed to jump start it, thank the Divines! – but she hadn’t been able to rage at anyone yet because Mr. Tech-murderer McStony-Face over there was bloody difficult to talk to, let alone rave and rant at! And now Eyrie was in front of her, being _oh so reasonable_ while the rest of Igni’s world refused to go along with the Altmer’s orderly and sensible program and Igni just _needed_ Eyrie to make it go along because Oblivion! She just needed the mer to listen first!

Eyrie shook her head. How bad could one simple human male be? “Igni, I can’t—”

“He’s not _just_ a man!” the Imperial hissed desperately, interrupting her, dark golden eyes going to slits of irritation.  The Altmer exhaled a slow, low sigh but didn’t get further than that because Igni’s hands shot forward to put an almost strangle hold on her upper arms again, crushing the silky, pale blue fabric of her top as she twisted the other woman around. “He dropped out of friggin’ empty space!”

Eyrie blinked crystalline blue eyes at her friend. Ignatia was not the type to, ah… indulge in recreational drugs. The young woman may never have liked the restrictions of the high society she was born into but she never had been – and, Eyrie was damned certain, never would be – inclined to dip into _that_ particular black hole. Igni liked her freedom too much to have it restricted by skooma or some other stupidity. The mer shook her head, making little, loose tendrils of silken hair dance around her face. “I can’t help you if you don’t calm do—”

**_CRACK!_ **

The sound was soft as a whisper but in the growing evening chill it resounded with the force of a thunderclap and it _was_ loud enough to cause both women to go stock-still in sudden startlement, like two does caught in the headlights. A second passed and then Ignatia’s fingers spasmed around Eyrie’s arms before a muffled moan of pain escaped the shorter woman’s sealed lips. Eyrie almost, _almost,_ winced at the sound but forced herself to take her gaze off of her friend and transfer it to the source of the noise. Or at least where she was fairly certain it had originated from.

The tall, dark man was still standing by the car, all innocent-like in his stoic manner as he glanced down at one of the lamps edging the Altmer’s immaculate driveway. It wasn’t so flawless now that one of those lamps had gone out. Eyrie blinked slowly, squinting in the dark. If she wasn’t wrong – judging from what she could see in the light spilling from the other lamps – the glass bowl covering the lamp had a big, ol’ spidery crack in it that branched out like the veins in a leaf.

“He just keeps breaking my tech!” Igni bewailed in a low voice as she almost dropped her head onto the other woman’s shoulder.

Eyrie could only stare. _Well… this is certainly… strange._ Although “strange” was being polite about it, wasn’t it? she noted warily before subtly touching her tongue to her bottom lip and swallowing. There was a _very_ pertinent question just begging to be asked here, one she really needed Ignatia to answer, but how to pose it? Bluntly while the human was this out of it? Maybe…

Delicately clearing her throat, Eyrie forged ahead, sotto voce. “Where did you find this man, Igni?”

The Imperial raised her head to meet the mer’s all blue eyes. Where…? Her mind drew a blank. Eyrie already knew about the “reclamation” side of business that the Wolfqueen’s Treasury was involved with. The mer saw to the company’s data security and was their tech support after all! But today had been so sincerely and incredibly weird that she wasn’t sure whether to tell Eyrie the truth or not. At the sight of delicately shaped brows climbing towards a fiery red hairline and a prompting look, the human rolled her shoulders indecisively before squaring them as she firmed her chin in preparation.

“A… ruin.” One of the brows dropped at that, large, almond-shaped eyes giving Igni a very pointed and unimpressed look. Perhaps not prepared enough. The Imperial averted her gaze but couldn’t keep it from crawling back up again a moment later. “On Solstheim!” she hissed out the addendum.

“And precisely why were you over there??”

Ignatia stared dumbfounded, hands relaxing on Eyrie’s arms. Why? “Wh—? What do you mean, ‘why’?” She let go of the mer to be able to make small, angry gestures with her hands. “Because Karliah told me to go up there!”

Eyrie frowned. Of course that was it, she’d just… She wasn’t sure what. What was Karliah’s reason? The Altmer frowned. Did she know something more? Eyrie dispelled that train of thought before it gave her a headache. All she needed to do for now was to remember to set up a… ahem, “business meeting”, with the Dunmer woman. _Tomorrow preferably_.

She raised her gaze to look at the man still by the black car only to find him staring back at her. _Hopefully,_ she amended as the silent exchange lingered. There was just something in his eyes or the way his unwavering, unblinking gaze penetrated her that made her… she wasn’t sure what. She didn’t want to say shiver, nor that it made her skin crawl or that she felt uneasy or attracted because it was none of them. And at the same time _all_ of them. It was just a very, truly, weirdly unsettling sensation that rippled over her skin like a cool mist and made the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle.

Standing up straight as she did her best to regather her momentarily scattered wits, Eyrie smoothed out a wrinkle that probably wasn’t on her knee-length, ghostly silver pencil skirt and put a smile upon her gently berry-coloured lips as she stepped back into her entrance hall. Quickly hunting down a pair of pumps, she slipped them on before walking out her still open door again, navigating around her friend and down the three polished granite steps leading up onto her porch. Igni was suddenly behind her as she chased down the mer moving towards the stranger.

“What are you doing?!” the Imperial hissed at her, the horror more so than the agitation from earlier all but a ghost in her voice now.

“What does it look like?” the Altmer whispered back without dropping her warm smile or taking her eyes off the tall Nord. “I’m being a good hostess. Now kindly stop hiding behind me as though he’s going to bite you, Igni.”

The human’s eyes flared a brighter gold as she glared at her friend’s gentle scolding. “For all you know, he already could have!” she grumbled irately.

A smirk flashed to momentary life on Eyrie’s full lips, something Ignatia caught as she moved to walk more to the side – if a step behind – the mer. “Was it nice?” the mer all but cooed at her with a fluttering of thick, dark-tinted lashes.

“Eyrie!” Igni snapped sharply at the teasing tone, her cheeks flushing delicately despite her best efforts because she _so_ did not need that mental image, thank you very much! But then, as they came within her earlier passenger's hearing, she clamped her lips stubbornly closed, folding her arms beneath her bosom, the better to focus on glaring accusingly at the tall Nord who didn't even bat an eye at it. _Vile, heartless, tech-murderer that he is, anyway,_ Igni thought darkly, glaring all the harder.

The closer Eyrie drew towards the dark, silent figure looming next to the Imperial's car, the more she felt like there was an indefinable “something” in the air – almost like the weight against your body right before a heavy downpour or the static preceding a thunderstorm. And it only seemed to increase in intensity, slowly but surely, with each single step that brought her steadily closer to the strangely dressed man. It was unnerving, unsettling and made her want to run in the opposite direction while, at the same time, she wanted to reach out and touch him, even with only a fingertip, just to see if she'd get a shock from the contact. The sensation felt… deeply familiar, yet at the same time not. Was it because it was different? Stronger? Both? Or was it because he was a human? It’d be the first time she’d ever felt anything like this around one of the races of man after all.

Whatever it was, she could almost place it but at the last moment, it eluded her. It lay like a nostalgic flavour on the tip of her tongue, refusing to bend to recollection and be recognised, teasing and tickling at some long-buried memory. Or was it a dream? It felt like another lifetime. The closer she got though, the more she felt like she could sense…

Her thoughts, as well as finally getting close enough to see his eyes clearly, almost caused her to miss a step and her heart to start beating just a bit too fast to be completely comfortable while that prickling sensation crawled most uncomfortably over her skin again.

 _Black,_ Eyrie’s mind stuttered in adamant shock. And it wasn’t just the irises; it was the sclera as well! That… that was just _not_ possible, not in mortals, let alone _humans_. _Or perhaps,_ some part of her mind quipped in the distance, _you should say that it isn’t the_ norm. _You know far too many things to use such a word as “impossible”._ She had to agree with her subconscious on that. But it also meant she _really_ needed to get hold of Karliah as soon as she was able. What on Nirn had Igni landed herself with now?

“Suna ye sunnabe, pella rille.” The old fashioned, formal greeting was the first thing off Eyrie’s softly painted lips, followed swiftly by a gracious and welcoming smile as they reached her friend’s companion. Maybe it was too formal? Maybe it was weird. And maybe he didn’t understand it at all since he was a human and this was a very old type of greeting even among her kind. She wasn’t sure but the familiar yet strange feeling in the air made her think of home and that made this particular greeting the only thing that came to mind.

The man in front of her blinked, a momentary pause as he appeared to study her a bit closer, almost as if something had changed when she spoke. Or was that a ridiculous notion? He was tall for a human. Eyrie felt compelled to say that he was probably very close to, if not the exact same height as, her boyfriend. Ondolemar was an Altmer though and stood at an even six feet eight inches when barefoot. It meant she could wear even four inch heels and still be shorter, something that appealed greatly to her. While many Nords were tall – a fair deal taller on an average than Imperials and Bretons but less so compared to Redguards – they usually weren’t taller or of a similar height to Altmeri men and women. A good example was the current ruler of the Aldmeri Dominion, Queen Ayrenn VI, a beautiful, statuesque woman of at least six feet and six inches in height.

“I’m Eyrenni Balacyr,” the redhead introduced herself in a perfectly cultured yet musical and very faintly accented voice as she extended a pale peachy-golden hand.

The tall Nord stared at the proffered hand, an expression of fleeting confusion flickering quickly across the midnight depths of his eyes, as if the gesture were a completely foreign one to him. His gaze shifted to Igni, who still stood just slightly behind Eyrenni but the Imperial was staring at him as if he’d spontaneously sprouted another head on his shoulders. The anxiety around the human woman was palpable, only increasing as his black eyes met the mer’s once more. They were opaque now, devoid of any sign as to what he was feeling or thinking.

Hands clasped behind his back, Miraak inclined his head the barest fraction of an inch to Eyrie, like a king or jarl of old accepting the obeisance of someone who was clearly beneath him.

“Miraak!” The sharp hiss from the other human communicated her agitation splendidly, as did the flashing of her eyes. The glance her way was swift and short, more to take note of how exasperated Igni actually was. She appeared to be about to start vibrating actually. The large Nord didn’t move an inch but his eyes returned to the taller of the two women.

“Drem yol lok, insehofkah.” The scant few words, spoken tersely but just as formally as Eyrenni had said hers, caused another murderous flare of the Imperial’s eyes but it was interrupted by a mellifluous sound.

Eyrie’s soft, throaty chuckle broke through the awkward atmosphere, free hand coming up to cover her mouth delicately as the other one dropped to her side. Her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Igni, that’s quite all right. Let’s all go inside, shall we?” the mer offered, turning partly to indicate the still open door behind her with its brightly lit entrance hall.

Behind her immaculately polite facade though, her mind was working a lot faster, running at a furious pace, actually. She had been as surprised by the unknown language as by the deep but smooth baritone that delivered it. Nevertheless, this… Miraak, as Igni had called him, had strange eyes, his manner and dress were almost coldly distant and outlandish, but there was also this… very weird – almost otherworldly – feeling about him; a tingling on her skin she couldn’t quite explain, a just barely heard whisper of distant memories that refused to come into focus. No matter what Karliah’d had in mind or thought might be found on Solstheim, Eyrie would wager this wasn’t quite what the head of the Skyrim branch of the Wolfqueen’s Treasury had aimed for. If it was… her mother was the one in need of a chat with the other Dunmer, not Eyrie. What she _could_ do though was to smooth the path for poor Igni and her frazzled nerves.

…Not that she wasn’t also doing it for other reasons, personal and otherwise, but it wasn’t like she could tell Igni that. To save the situation from any lingering discomfort, the Altmer put on another warm smile that would look genuine rather than forced. “The night is bound to only get colder,” she added as she stepped to the side, leaving the path up to the porch clear. Half a second of silence passed, not even enough time to notice it unless you looked for it, before the tall man strode forward at a leisurely but controlled pace. While Eyrie wouldn’t say the fraction of a moment had been filled with hesitation, there had certainly been _something_ in the very subtle stiffening of his broad shoulders; easy to miss if you weren't observant. Eyrie was observant. She was now watching this stranger like a hawk, if only because there was something… something so _odd_ about him. Something odd that didn’t appear in humans. That didn’t, or at least shouldn’t, account for the pause though. A hesitation, perhaps? A reluctance to have strangers behind him? A measuring of something? Her? Both women perhaps? Did he think they would bite or try to stab him in the back? Maybe she was just reading into it too much…

The mer held on to the serene expression she had plastered firmly on her face after she had spoken but as Miraak moved past them, something washed over her skin that made her diaphragm and lungs tighten. If it had been a scent, she would have said he was either wearing a damned good cologne or that there was an explosively good pheromone match between them but it wasn’t that, she was sure of it. No, this was something else, something intangible, something _significantly_ different and had nothing to do with his attractiveness or masculine aura. Neither was this some instantaneous flash of lust – she knew what those felt like from personal experience. This was… was… _Odd_ didn’t even begin to describe it, but dangerously familiar just might begin to scratch the surface if that initial kick was any indication.

The Altmer glanced at the other woman beside her. Igni didn’t seem to notice it or was completely immune to… whatever _that_ had been. It was a possibility that was because the Imperial wasn’t calm enough yet or… Those innumerable possibilities – backed up in part by Igni’s words earlier about how he had appeared – made Eyrie want to roll her shoulders in slightly anxious discomfort but she steeled herself and subtly cleared her throat, causing the Imperial at her side to jump.

“Is there anything you want from the car…?” Eyrie trailed off, brows arching high. Igni regarded her for a second before nodding mutely and moving over to the vehicle that was quickly blending in with the night as the hour slipped away. Fishing something out from the driver’s seat first, the Imperial walked around and got a backpack out of the booth before locking the vehicle properly. Upon returning to her friend’s side, they both headed back up the driveway to the house again, trailing hesitantly after the unsettling Nord who preceded them inside the villa.

As they arrived in the foyer, Eyrie considered the tall, dark man standing there, hands still clasped behind his back and watching them as though either it didn’t matter that they were there or like he was expecting them to do something. She recognised that air of superiority and distance, the almost disdainful suspicion. It was the easy, almost casual mien the old and secure upper class and nobility could so easily wrap around themselves and in most cases generations of wearing that shroud had seemingly made the demeanour seep into their very blood. She had been around it most of her life, but just as she hadn’t been born into it – rather taught and absorbed it – she would wager it’d been the same for this man; something he had learned and not been born into. It was very subtle but it was either that or there was something making him unsettled, for the lack of a better word.

For a moment she considered keeping her heels on to strengthen that upright posture and enhance her own natural grace that she possessed while moving around in nothing but stockings – not to mention it gave her a few extra inches of height and almost put her on eye level with the big Nord. In the end she slipped off her pumps, just as Ignatia dropped her backpack and pulled off her own boots and jacket. Eyrie snapped up the latter and draped it over a hanger before putting it away behind the mirror-fronted door of the closet. Their guest didn’t seem very inclined to remove anything so she didn’t offer. To be honest, the outfit looked rather complete as it was, even if it did remind her of something from out of the pages of an ancient history book.

Not about to let the situation get awkward again if she could help it, Eyrie didn’t dawdle but turned a faintly amused smile onto Igni. “Seeing your sudden appearance here and the fact that you didn’t call, I shall assume you didn’t stop to eat on the way.”

“I would have called!” the Imperial protested indignantly, crossing her arms under her breasts as she sent yet another – Eyrie was beginning to wonder if Igni did anything other than stare daggers at the man at this point – murderous glare Miraak’s way. “But _someone_ broke my phone,” she bit out the second part of her retort. Either it was too subtle to notice or the tall Nord didn’t react to the words thrown his way at all this time. Eyrie wasn’t sure which it was but the calm, almost nonchalant silence from him, paired with the same flat gaze from those strange swirling black eyes seemed to irk her friend even more.

“Igni, I’m certain it isn’t that bad.” At her mild words the murderous gaze of the Imperial was transferred to her. The mer just barely kept her lips from twitching at the corners. “But if you’re that concerned, I can take a look at it tomorrow. What I really wanted to know was; do you want anything to eat?”

Igni rubbed at the back of her neck, stopped momentarily as she noticed how messed up her low ponytail had gotten during the day of her constantly pushing her fingers up through her hair, and then dropped her hand back to her side again. “If you’ve got something to make a sturdy sandwich with, I’d be grateful”, she confessed with a barely withheld sigh.

Eyrie gave her a nod, appearing for all the world that if Igni had asked for a full three course meal , it wouldn’t have bothered the Altmer in the slightest. The Imperial was pretty sure it _would_ have been a bother though, no matter how good a hostess the mer could play. Besides, it had been a long day and Ignatia just wanted it to end, preferably without her attempting bloody murder because that would just be the icing on the cake. Where would they hide his body, anyway? An even better question was; would the neighbours notice and call the police? Igni’d spent enough evenings at Eyrie’s place to know they could get a bit loud without anyone complaining and the hedges were tall and thick enough to hide even the mer from sight – fully clothed or not, don’t ask – but they’d never tried to kill anyone. It just didn't seem worth all that trouble. At least, not yet. Not if he could resist murderlizing any more of her tech!

Eyrie had turned her expectant gaze onto Miraak, who looked as immobile as a rock and as uninterested as one as he returned her scrutiny impassively. He clearly was not going to answer, divulging that he was possibly mortal and therefore required food or drink. The seconds started multiplying again, as well as the awkwardness while silence reigned. Ignatia's temper also seemed to be mounting once more but before the Imperial could say anything, Eyrie interjected with a practiced calm. “Fair enough,” her mature soprano with its melodic undertones held no condemnation, even if she did have the urge to kick the tall Nord in his hind-end for his rudeness – intentional or otherwise.

“For the love of!” What was the bloody man; slow? Dim-witted? _Trying_ to piss off the mer?! Igni turned blazing eyes onto the much larger human as she stalked towards him but stopped short of his personal space. “You have had as little as I have the entire day! Eat something!” she more or less hissed sharply at him, dark golden eyes narrowed while her hands twitched at her sides, like she was resisting the urge to throttle him. Or attempt to knock some sense into his thick skull.

This time he _did_ react, the muscles in his throat and shoulders tightening enough for it to be visible while he cast a cool glance at the agitated woman. She didn’t back down though. No matter what he did – however pointedly delivered a word or small a gesture he used that would have sent the servants scurryring – Ignatia refused to be intimidated or, apparently, even affected! It irked him and there was just something about that defiance that put its teeth into his patience and refused to let go, taunting him to respond to it by her mere continued proximity. She was standing close enough to him he could see the fine spattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose as well as the flecks of darker honey in her glaring golden eyes. The faint blush that stained her cheeks with a show of her irritation with him. From his vantage point of being almost a foot taller than the Imperial, he could see, as well, that the flush originated from somewhere around her bosom, the upper part of her chest exposed by the strange, tunic-like blouse she was wearing.

Something in Miraak’s face changed, however faintly; his eyes grew a touch more steely, as though it was a subtle hint of a warning. Igni didn’t care for it but stared right back at him, undaunted.

“Spiced mead will suffice.”

The Imperial blinked at the sudden relenting. That was the most she’d gotten out of that man since he woke up! “That is _not_ food,” she pointed out tersely as she met his unyielding gaze, irate glare for uncaring stare.

Eyrie regarded the two of them with a frown. Igni’s feelings as far as this man was concerned were rather clear – she didn’t even need eyes in her head to figure out that he was the sole source of her state of high irritation and short temperedness – and she was possibly starting to see why. She was beginning to pinpoint familiar behaviours but even so, Miraak managed to push them one step further. As for his request… it was very specific to say the least. She knew her mother had once brought some home, meant to be drunk warm. It was especially pleasant in the colder months but it wasn’t what they normally had at home. “I’m sorry but I only have sweet fruit mead in the house at the moment.”

Igni’s head whipped around at the pleasant but apologetic confession. “Don’t encourage him, Eyrie!” she now snapped at the mer in exasperation. Just what she needed! Her friend catering to this… this jerk’s pompous attitude! Did she mention the fact he also appeared to have a proclivity for murdering her tech? That did not endear him to the Imperial even one tiny iota! Her precious tech, in ruins. Gods only knew if Eyrie could salvage it.

Igni wasn’t the only one looking at the Altmer with a less than happy expression. Although Miraak’s countenance would better be described as a cross between disapproving and mildly disdainful as if he believed _she_ had insulted _him_. She didn’t have to question what was wrong now though, he oh so generously supplied the explanation without any prompting this time by his next statement. “If you offer guests refreshment, you should have a wide variety to accommodate their preferences.” He paused, calmly scanning the mer as though she was just another object in the house. Eyrie raised a patient brow, meeting his gaze serenely. She could hear the unspoken ‘but’ or ‘and’ in there. He didn’t keep the women waiting. “You seem to be a noble of some sort, if your furnishings are any indication, so I shall assume you will occasionally entertain others of equal or higher rank.”

Faint surprise danced across Eyrie’s face with its light but natural makeup but she quickly got ahold of it. She wasn’t sure if she should read some disappointment or sarcasm in his voice or eyes but part of her said it had to be there. If she wasn’t wrong, this guy probably could insult someone while handing out a compliment, making her unsure if she really should be insulted, amused or both by his words. _Well!_ Eyrie thought disparagingly, keeping a snort and her own critical glance locked up in her mind. _Aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine and roses? You want it that way, grumpy gus? I can play that game if you insist._ She flashed charming smile with a slight spreading of her tapered fingers, palms upwards, in what was almost but not quite a return of the big Nord's veiled sarcasm.

“As you correctly ascertained, I am of the upper class,” she confirmed, now clasping her hands behind her back as she lifted her chin a degree in practiced haughtier. “My mother is the Queen’s own hand – or ambassador as they call it here on the continent – to Skyrim from the Aldmeri Dominion. I do apologise for not having anything that can accommodate your more urbane palate. My guests usually have a taste for something more sophisticated than simple spiced mead.” It was wrong but she couldn’t help but hope he felt a bit stabbed by her comment about his rustic tastes.

What she did not mention was that most of her guests often requested something culturally significant in nature. Eyrie didn't figure he need know that. The Altmeri guests usually preferred something from Alinor while the few Dunmeri ones that either she or her mother had hosted would go for something geographically closer, such as Vvardenfell brandy or Sujamma, but still nostalgic if they didn't ask for something from the Gold Coast or the Nibenay Basin.

Auri’ada herself would always have a bottle of Sujamma handy in one of her residences – that included the one Eyrie lived in – for whatever purpose it could serve. Her mother had once joked that if for no other reason, the bottle holding the liqueur would serve as a pretty decent bludgeoning weapon if the host had ever had enough of her guests. That last bit, Eyrie was certain, had been meant as a joke though. Possibly. But knowing her mother, Auri'ada could have been entirely serious too.

Miraak appeared to be about as impressed with Eyrie’s affirmation that she was of the upper class as he was with everything else; that is to say, not at all. His expression had not changed, nor did anything flicker in those eerie black eyes of his. If anything, his chin lifted just a hair higher. _Any higher,_ the mer thought with a mixture of irritation and amusement, _and you’ll have it stuck up your own backside._

“If you claim to be of the ruling class, how is it your mother is her Queen’s own hand? That would make you the daughter of a servant, not of the nobility.” This was delivered in such a way that the big Nord sounded as if he were explaining this to a small child.

Eyrie immediately prickled, her cheeks flushing hotly but she kept her temper from otherwise showing. “I will have you know,” she said precisely, “it is a great honour to serve the Queen. Many nobles have done so in the past.” She raised her own chin, attempting to stare down her nose at the tall human but… she had taken off her heels. Dammit. She settled for arching one finely-shaped brow instead and returning his imperious gaze with a sharp and practiced haughty one of her own. “Would you send just about anyone to treat on your behalf in foreign lands? Your trust must never have been in jeopardy nor, I suspect, did you ever have the welfare of thousands within your domain to consider. If that is, indeed, the case, then that is something to be envied. There are not many who could rule justly with that amount of responsibility on their shoulders." The mer allowed her cool impersonal gaze to sweep over the human male from the top of his black head to the tips of his leather boots before her eyes flashed back up to lock with his. "If you knew your history," she said in the same precise tones even if a hint of indignation managed to bleed through, "as well as you appear to present yourself as doing, you would, of course, know all of this."

 _Who in Oblivion does this guy think he is?_ Eyrie thought, highly irritated. Part of her wanted to toss his surly, patronising butt right out her front door. Igni, on the other hand, looked like she was on the verge of actually going for it and attempting to strangle him; the Imperial’s face was so dark a red it was almost the same shade as her ruby auburn hair. And if looks could in fact kill, the big Nord would have been dead where he was standing.

“Miraak!” Igni growled menacingly, hands raised half-way and fingers curled like she meant to choke him then and there. “Can you at least pretend to be civil? It honestly won’t kill you!” For the Divines’ bloody sake! What was wrong with this guy? This was worse than he’d been on the ride here. Igni wasn’t sure if she should curse Miraak or praise Eyrie’s patience. Maybe both. She was trying really hard to remember why not dumping him earlier would’ve been a good idea and her temper kept muting her memory in an attempt to win the argument. She was almost, _almost_ inclined to let it and give him the old heave-ho out the door to let him fend for himself. That's what she really wanted to do. But, the rational part of her brain said it was a bad idea. So, here they were, where the arrogant ass was insulting and belittling one of her best friends. Joy oh joy.

The focus of both women’s ire flicked a bored glance to Ignatia before again regarding the mer. “Only the very naive believe there is no threat to them, regardless of position or status. The past teaches lessons; some are not so intelligent as to learn them. Others are. It is the ones who know too much you should always be wary of.”

She should have raised a brow or even snorted but all she managed was to fill her eyes with that sentiment.  It did the job though because it hid the feelings his words actually hit at. The ones who knew too much, indeed. A faint and very dull stab of guilt punched futilely at Eyrie’s heart. She had long ago come to terms with that part as far as her friends were concerned. Some of them knew more about the mer and what _she_ knew, some knew less. Igni was, unfortunately, one of the latter despite being one of her oldest companions. At the end of the day though, Eyrie thought, it was probably better that way. The Imperial didn’t have the same level of backup and protection that Eyrie could call upon. That had been a truth that had often soothed the mer’s mind early on.

Returning her mental focus onto the man opposite her, Eyrie concentrated on something that was far simpler to deal with; arguing with him. “Queen Ayrenn has far too many subjects scattered throughout many lands to administer to them all alone and the people she chooses to trust are few.” She folded her hands quietly before, adopting the same manner of speech Miraak had previously used; as if she were explaining something this simple to a child who was having a difficult time grasping the concept. “Her Majesty would have even less reason to trust someone who hasn’t earned said trust but is only by her side due to being paid for their services. I would thank you kindly to not make presumptions about the nature of the relationship between my mother and the Queen.” If she was honest with herself, that closed door behind her was starting to look mighty appealing by now but she couldn’t. Even if she wanted to chuck him out, she couldn’t – especially not if this man held within him what she thought he did. Karliah though… that woman’s pointed ear would be fair game when Eyrie got hold of her.

“Power can corrupt those too weak of will to withstand its lure.”

Eyrie almost choked at the nonchalantly delivered comment that – she was sure – hinted at something he chose not to speak aloud. Steeling her jaw just hard enough to keep her from grinding her teeth but also not enough to show the strain on her throat, she levelled her sky-blue eyes on the man, keeping them just as calm and tranquil as they had been before.

“When choosing confidants,” he resumed, “I have found discretion and humility to be two of the most…” a purposeful pause as he returned the mer’s cool glance, from her now stockinged toes to the top of her red head, “admirable attributes in a servant. That and unflagging loyalty. Even so, to ensure those, you need the yoke of love and fear. Either will tie them to you. Which does your Queen use?”

Eyrie’s shoulders drew back as she felt her temper flare again. She barely heard Igni groan but caught the Imperial burying her face in both of her hands out of the corner of her eye. It was no wonder the woman was so frazzled; she would have kicked him out of her car the moment he opened his mouth if this was how he spoke to a perfect stranger. The thought of tossing him out her front door held more appeal now than ever before.

“Queen Ayrenn,” the mer said, with much more aplomb than she was feeling at the moment, “is much loved by her people. Those who serve her act in the best interests of all who fall under her rule.” It was true. Eyrie was sure she didn’t know all there was to know about her mother and the Queen’s relationship but she knew one thing; it was iron-clad and solid as steel. Even if Eyrie didn’t have the same experiences with the Queen as her mother did, Auri’ada had told of and given her daughter enough reasons to find the ruler worthy of respect and more. She’d also had the opportunity to see for herself and read of Queen Ayrenn’s person and actions. Regardless of having been born and reared for the throne, the woman had proven she possessed honour, intelligence, integrity and ability enough to rule and thus, as far as Eyrie was concerned, the other Altmer had earned her obedience and respect. As such, this oaf here could very kindly just shut the fuck up. She swept her gaze over the big Nord again, one corner of her full lips twisting just faintly. “It is a great honour to be in her service, to hold her confidence and trust.”

“One man’s saviour is another man’s tyrant,” he informed the mer coolly, still expressionless. “Ayrenn is not a human name. Since when have the Ayleids ever been a friend to them that they would consider your Queen fit to rule over man?”

Eyrie’s eyes flashed in the brightness of the entrance hall but no matter how much she may have wanted to focus on the first part of what he said, it was the second that mercilessly drew her attention. Ayleids? This was… a bit worse than she might have thought. It was actually bordering on ridiculous and, once again, on the impossibility that Miraak was not of her and Ignatia's time or world. She tried to remind herself that ‘impossible’ wasn’t a word she should use but it was becoming rather difficult not to.

Eyrie carefully cleared her throat. How to best proceed here? Igni’s presence suddenly felt ten times bigger, filling up the empty space in the white-walled hall and spilling out into the nearby rooms. The fact that she _was_ sensing hints – and strong ones! – of what she feared to be magicka emanating from Miraak’s very person meant she couldn’t just do whatever she wished. Damn it all to Oblivion! But just because her hands were partially tied didn’t mean she was going to stand for insults or some asshat talking down to her in her own house, not to mention when the prevalent topics were her mother and Queen Ayrenn!

Drawing a deep breath to fortify and steady herself, the mer met and held the big Nord’s dark eyes. Even if he was being a colossal dick, she would not let him see that it affected her! “The Ayleids’ empire ceased to be long before Queen Ayrenn came to power,” she told him calmly, keeping her tones smooth and uninflected. “I would kindly request you get your facts straight and know about that which you speak before you go throwing such accusations at her, my mother or myself, for that matter.”

The Nord appeared unperturbed. In fact, he appeared to be almost bored, still standing there with his hands clasped behind his back and that regal air that oozed ‘I am your superior, bow before me’. “Those who forget history often repeat the mistakes of their forebears.”

A silent nod of agreement was the initial response to his words; her secondary response, which she suppressed, was to give him a swift kick where it would do most good. “True as that may be, you can rest assured that the Altmeri have done their utmost to preserve historical documents to the best of their abilities.” Given the age that the average Altmer, _any_ mer really, could attain, that was saying something.

“The victors always write the histories and paint themselves in the best image while presenting their vanquished enemies in a light that is meant to cast them in the appearance of nothing more than mindless, barbaric brutes.” For all of Nirn, he actually _allowed_ himself the barest raising of one level black brow. Eyrie almost rolled her eyes, wanting to ask if he strained something with the action. “It makes the conquest sound that much more impressive and righteous to those who were not there to actually witness the slaughter.” He looked down at the mer – something that was seriously starting to irritate her – meeting her eyes. “What did not glorify the conquerors was destroyed. They chose what was saved from the fires and what was consumed by the flames. The hostility between man and mer has been well documented. Are you saying that division between our two peoples no longer exists?”

Eyrie couldn’t help herself and allowed the gentle but indulgent smile to curve her lips. “If you wish to cross-reference how man and mer have chronicled the eras, I would suggest a trip to the official archives in the Imperial City. As someone who’s lived there, I can attest to them holding copies of most if not all works housed within the Royal Archives of Alinor as well as contemporary documents written by human and not just mer or one of the many other races of Nirn. It is quite unbiased, I can assure you.” On the one hand, she wished to clock him over the head with such facts as Tiber Septim but on the other she wasn’t sure how far to push.

“But to answer your previous question; it was little over nine hundred years ago that the last great enmities between man and mer took place,” Eyrie finished with a polite nod even if that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg that was some of the political history of Tamriel.

The Mede Empire had run out of members fit for the Imperial Throne during the Second Great War, landing the Empire once again in the care of Potentates. This time it lasted for over two centuries, all the while the ways the Empire was ruled changed until, slowly but surely, each and every state that had once been a part of it stood on their own and the only contact they had with the Empire was the regulations framework decided upon by the Elder Council.

The Empire, in the shape it had been known since the Second Era, had effectively ceased to be by the end of the Sixth Era, also known as the Dwemeri Resurgence Era thanks to the rediscoveries of ancient Dwemeri steam technology, something that had prompted a wave of innovative thinking and inventions. For the last five and a half centuries each nation of Tamriel had pretty much ruled themselves with the Empire only having minor influence on the national arena and only a token more on the international.

Of course, that didn’t apply to Valenwood, Anequina and Pelletine whose relations with Alinor were still strong enough for the Aldmeri Dominion to remain as a functioning union. Eyrie wasn’t sure if it still held because of the innate differences between man and mer and how they governed, because the Aldmeri Dominion – due to it being in its third incarnation – was technically younger than the Empire or simply because the last millennium had turned out the way it had. While history did hold her interest to a fair extent, it wasn’t her main focus; the here and now was and for several good reasons.

What with the way her evening had just turned out, it would appear she had been given another reason for the immediate present to be her foremost concern. She just needed a clearer picture of the additions to the playing field while still keeping _her_ pieces intact. Eyrie loosely entwined her long fingers, folding her hands casually before her. “If you wish to continue discussing history and current socio-political matters, I would be glad to entertain you but perhaps I could suggest a move into the parlour? Otherwise, if rest is preferred due to today’s travels, I would take you both upstairs.” What she _really_ wanted was to reach out and just touch the big Nord, even if it only was with the tip of a finger. Partly to see what sort of reaction it would get but mostly because few things in this world held magicka to any greater degree and she was just certain he did. She had no other explanation for what she’d felt – a sort of static, that made the fine down-hairs on her body stand erect when she was in this close a proximity to him – and especially not when in combination with what Igni had told her.

“Rest!”

Speaking of the Imperial… Eyrie gracefully inclined her red head towards the other woman, a lot happier than she was willing to let on that her friend had – hopefully – managed to cut the evening short. “You can put your things in my room,” she told Igni who immediately went to grab her bag as the mer turned her attention onto their mystery guest because she’d seen his subtle movement out of the corner of her eye.

She didn’t wait for him to speak, just wrapped calm about herself with a sharp tug as though it was a mental shawl. The tall human still wore that calmly superior expression that would either annoy, confuse or alienate a lot of people that met him for the first time. Especially those who couldn’t read others well or took offense easily and even for those who _were_ proficient readers of body language, moods and atmospheres, this man would prove a challenge and a trying one at that. Eyrie chose to level a serious frown at him.

Miraak regarded her in an almost leisurely manner but certain as the sun rose over Akavir, Eyrie knew there was something more, a lot more, going on behind those oddly eerie, other-worldly swirling black eyes and inside his skull – a piece of his anatomy she was beginning to suspect was rather thick due to sheer stubborn arrogance and will – and he wouldn’t fail in delivering it. Regardless of what it was at that. She could see why Igni wanted the day done and over with. They were grown women though. They _should_ be able to herd one man – regardless of size or obstinacy – into a bloody bedroom. And couldn’t that just be taken wrong in so many ways? Eyrie just barely kept from laughing.

Before her, the man in question shrugged with the kind of careless grace and control that made the gesture laconic, a lift of his shoulders no more than a scant few inches. Somehow, he even made that less than formal movement seem almost regal as he continued to watch her with those disconcerting eyes of his.

Eyrie inhaled a very slow and even more subtle breath through her nose. She could do this without breaking her polite veneer. Even if it killed her. She wouldn't allow this bloody Nord to rattle her self-possession no matter how hard he tried.

“It will have to suffice,” was delivered with such coolness it should have lowered the temperature in the room by at least a whole polar climate while still remaining – barely! – civil.

“Miraak!”

Eyrie had barely had time to part her lips before the sharp growl came from her right, much less get in a retort or reply. She did manage to swiftly slip an arm around her friend’s shoulders though, catching Igni and halting her progress before the human pounced the obvious source of her ire. The Imperial twisted in the other woman’s surprisingly firm grip so she could glare at the mer instead. “Eyrie—”

Said person grinned cheerfully. “Well then, let’s go!” And then she was pulling Igni along, forcing the human to choose whether to mount the stairs of her own volition or be prodded up them. Although if she judged Igni’s feelings based on her glare, it was rather obvious the shorter woman felt she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Given that she knew how the human could get… the mer felt rather assured in her risk assessment of Miraak’s physical well-being and thus the reason for her taking preventive measures. Eyrie didn’t relish the idea of having to explain to the woman who cleaned why there were bloodstains on the nice white marble floor. Hence her dragging Igni up the stairs, since separating these two seemed the wisest course before the aforementioned happened.

At the top of the stairs the mer continued to lead the way down the wide corridor, footfalls whisperingly soft upon the plush, champagne carpet covering most of the polished oak floor. As they arrived at the only door on the left, Eyrie directed the Imperial inside with a gesture. “I’ll be with you shortly,” she promised the other woman who regarded her grudgingly for a second before going inside the bedroom.

 _One down,_ the mer thought. _One to go._ Drawing yet another slow, deep breath to replenish her waning reserves of patience, she headed back towards the stairs and Mr. Congeniality who was waiting at the bottom. She’d thought he would follow them but apparently no such luck. She refrained from sighing. When she reached the ground floor again he appeared to be examining an old painting on the wall, one her mother had brought home from Cyrodiil. It was a lovely rendition of the Imperial City at either dusk or dawn. The warm light was sparkling off the tall white-gold tower and the red-tiled roofs of the buildings surrounding it as well as the outlying edifices. It was very old, Auri’ada had said, but still lovely. It managed to give Cyrodiil’s capital a historical but at the same time familiar appearance.

The mer arched a brow at the big Nord’s absorption; his focus perplexing to her. He stared at the painting like he’d never seen anything even close to resembling it before. That in and of itself was more than a bit interesting. The evidence was just stacking up in Eyrie’s mind that something very, very strange was going on here. She couldn’t put her finger on it, not quite yet. More like she didn’t _want_ to believe what her imagination was telling her since it was the complete opposite of what her logical mind was saying even if she took magic into account.

Clearing her throat lightly to gain his attention, she shifted her body and motioned up the stairs. “If you don’t mind, I’ll show you to where you can sleep for the night.”

Miraak watched her with that unblinking gaze, his hands folded behind him, for a length of time that was almost too long to be comfortable before he inclined his black head towards her and started up the stairs. The mer let her breath out slowly as she padded silently along behind him. At the top, she took the lead and showed him the guest room at the end of the hallway. She paused, laying a hand on the pale wood of the last door on the right.

“This is the bathroom, in case you need it during the night,” she informed him. “There are clean towels and washcloths in the cabinet.” Not giving him a chance to reply, she opened the door to the other bedroom and walked into it. She _could_ spar with him even at this hour – verbally and mentally – but she needed to speak to Igni and figure out some things.

Like most of the house, the guestroom was done in soothing earth tones. A large, comfortable bed, a mossy green armchair, mahogany nightstands and a large chest of drawers as well as a tall lamp were the simple decor. One of the champagne coloured walls supported another painting of the lush lands of Eyrie’s birth: Alinor, the island of Summerset to be exact. Nothing special but it filled up the space and lent the room a bit of green and life.

She watched Miraak as he walked about the perimeter of the room, examining it like he was determining if it met his standards. Apparently, her assumption had been correct for the tall Nord turned towards her with a nod.

“This will do.”

Her hackles rose at the dismissive tone he took with her but she smoothed them as she did her features, keeping a carefully neutral expression firmly in place. “I’m happy it meets your standards.” What gave him the right to judge her house anyway? Especially if he’d last seen Nirn millennia ago! What had he lived in? A cave!? The ass! Eyrie bit back the simmering temper. “I’ll be back shortly with the mead. Unless you would prefer nothing since I don’t have the spiced variety?” she queried with an arched brow.

It took a second or two before she received her reply; another small, almost dismissive, but, she was pretty sure, positive gesture from the hand closest her. Yes, he had just waved her away like she was indeed the servant he had accused her of being not five minutes before! Squaring her slender shoulders and lifting her chin, she gave a terse nod in return – she didn't trust herself not to say something scathing to him for his high-handed manner – before she turned on her heel and left the infuriatingly arrogant, pompous jackass to his own devices. She wanted to slam the door behind her but somehow, Divines only knew, she didn’t. Leaning against the frame with a heavy but silent exhalation, she covered her eyes with her hands and gently massaged her temples where she could feel a headache starting. What an ordeal it'd been to just get here. And still there were a few things to do. Damn it all.

Before heading back downstairs again, she made sure to tell Igni where she’d stored the woman’s “over-sized baggage” – a wording that got her a sullen glare – and where the mer herself was going.

 _How else to put it though?_ Eyrie wondered, biting down on but not worrying at her Imperial manicured thumbnail, as she walked down the stair one last time for the night. At least she darned well hoped it was the last time. She had a feeling that if this Miraak needed anything during the late evening or night, he’d tell them – or her at least – and from what she knew about him, he’d expect it to be seen to. And sooner rather than later.

For a heartbeat she considered fixing up something so that in the unlikely event that he _did_ get hungry during the night, there’d already be something in his room but then she discarded the thought with a shake of her head. He hadn’t said anything earlier, even with prompting from both her and Igni so he could damn well wait until morning in that case. There was a difference between being a child and a guest and he certainly wasn’t the former, no matter how obnoxious he’d managed to make himself. She had no doubt he wouldn’t thank her for the comparison if he ever got to know about it, not that he would. Not unless he became a _really_ big nuisance.

Arriving in the kitchen with its soothing magnolia white, champagne and birch wood décor, picked out with details in pale sea-green and polished, black stone worktops, she moved methodically around the room as she fixed her friend’s sandwich. Eyrie needed to have all her cards in the correct order before she went back up again but what _was_ the correct order? It was bad enough that Ignatia had been exposed to the existence of magic but, judging from what she knew so far about the situation – which wasn’t much anyway – it was appearing to be a whole lot stranger than she had first surmised.

Eyrie went through the pieces of the puzzle she possessed so far as she sliced open the thick bread roll. Igni had visited an ancient, ruined temple. That could only be due to reclamation business. Butter, a few slices of wafer-thin, dry-cured Colovian ham and two slices of eidar cheese were layered onto the bread next. The Imperial had obviously been meant to pick _something_ up from that place but Eyrie highly doubted it had been what the human left Solstheim with. If Igni herself didn’t have any specifics, the Altmer could get them from Karliah. _If_ there were any specifics that is, but there usually was when it got this localised. Surreptitiously swiping a slice of ham from the package, she popped it in her mouth before wrapping up the remaining meat again and drying her hands on a towelette. Rubbing a finger up and down the tapered length of one of her pointed ears, she absently chewed her pilfered morsel, not really seeing the orderly kitchen before her.

What _really_ worried her was the creeping and growing suspicion that this man had magic of his own. What she needed was for Igni to tell her what had happened on the northern island in detail, as well as possibly see whatever objects the human had picked up from there, if there were any. If it turned out that Miraak _did_ have magic, and not just inherent, dormant magicka… then they had a bigger issue on their hands and she knew several other somebodies who’d be _very_ interested in knowing about him. Regardless of whether or not Miraak had magic, Eyrie assumed, _hoped,_ it wouldn’t matter that Igni was the one to find him. It shouldn’t matter but if it did… there were ways around that problem _if_ it came up. And if there weren’t? She could always find some tiny crack or crevice for the most important parts to slip through, she was sure. This situation was manageable; she just needed all the cards available to her on the table.

Predict, prevent, prevail. Her mother had been using that motto for as long as she could remember.

Topping off the sandwich with the other half of the bread and putting the creation on a plate, Eyrie hunted down another bottle of Sunset Rose wine and the one bottle of mead she had in the house. Reading the label, which stated it was an apple mead, she shrugged. It’d have to do, and if it wouldn't then he could just bloody do without? _Beggars can’t be choosy after all_ , she thought with a bit of malicious humour. Gathering everything, as well as another wine glass and a cut-crystal tumbler for picky oaf, she placed it all on a tray and headed back upstairs.

Something else occurred to her just as she was about to push the door to her bedroom open; what did she tell Igni about magic? The key to controlling and quite possibly covering this up if things went sideways as well as limiting the number of people getting involved relied on what could be kept a secret and what couldn’t. Eyrie rolled her shoulders where she stood in the hallway, knowing full well how awkward it’d be if either door opened right now. She preferred not to think of Igni – as well as a few other close friends – in terms of “controlling” but this was a situation where the mer deemed damage control was most definitely a necessity.

Not that she thought Igni would go running for the hills if she asked the Imperial to try and stay calm and quiet about it. It was fair to say they both had vast amounts of what could be politely called “blackmail” on one another if either decided to use such information against the other but Eyrie had always kept the proverbial ace up her sleeve hidden from Igni's knowledge, despite the over a decade long friendship with the other woman. To be fair, there hadn’t ever been a good or important enough reason _to_ reveal some of what she knew and had witnessed first-hand.

The Altmer was well aware how some might say neither was a good enough excuse but it was easy for others to judge and generalise when they didn’t know the details, wasn’t it? And right now? _A_ _lot_ rode on the details, didn’t it? Giving a mental nod, Eyrie put a shoulder to the door and pushed it open.

Igni’s eyes found hers immediately. They did create a lovely contrast, she and Igni, even if a mer’s sclera was coloured as well. In Eyrie’s case, it was a matter of the bright blue of a high noon sky filling the irises, picked out in deeper and brighter shades of the tropical seas that washed over the shores of her land of birth, while the sclera reflected the muted, icy blue of the early morning sky during Skyrim’s winter.

Igni’s eyes on the other hand were brighter and livelier than the average Imperial’s, looking like two circular, still-life photos of a bonfire with their golden amber base striated with spears of burnt oranges, muted fiery red and bright gold flecks throughout. For someone with such brilliant eyes, she could look awfully suspicious though. Something she was starting to look right now actually.

 _She must have calmed down a bit then_ , Eyrie concluded as she walked over to the armchair that had been unoccupied until now. The human had obviously spotted either the still partially full wine glass on one of the bedside tables or the book laying on the adjacent seat the Altmer had so abruptly vacated not too long ago and drawn some logical conclusions about Eyrie’s earlier activities.

“You aren’t fussing over him, are you?” The question was delivered with a faint squinting of golden-fire eyes, causing the mer to arch one finely shaped brow in amusement. Moving over to her friend, she handed over the plate containing the sandwich she had made.

“No more than I’d already offered to do,” was the smooth reply as she put the additional wine glass and bottle on the mahogany bedside piece separating Igni’s seat from the bed, still balancing the tray with the mead on her other hand. The human grumbled something unintelligible, an action that normally would have caused Eyrie to poke her or give the other woman a pointed look. Half the time Igni would speak up and the other half she would reciprocate or squeak but ultimately avoid voicing her initial statement. This time Eyrie let it slide as she headed back towards the door with a promise. “I won’t be long and when I return, I’d really like to hear _everything_ and with a great deal more clarity and detail than the first time around, okay?” Igni’s reply wasn't comprehensible due to her shoving the sandwich into her mouth. Eyrie paused for a heartbeat by the door, hand on the knob, as she debated whether to give in or not. The deliberation didn’t last long and she didn't turn back around.

“You know, I could always give you some pointers about how to fit something that’s possibly too big into your mouth,” the mer said lightly, a gleam of mischievous teasing making her bright blue eyes dance. So, she had given in to the impulse to antagonize the Imperial. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up and if it helped to alleviate some of Igni's lingering tension, so much the better. Plus, Igni was well aware Eyrie did have such knowledge – a certain ranger came to mind – which made the teasing just that much sweeter for the mer. Ok, maybe it was the tiniest bit mean but the opportunity was just too good to pass up!

She left the room with a barely noticeable but wicked grin on her lips to the sound of Igni trying not to choke on her mouthful of food at her back. She wasn’t sure if the hiss she heard was supposed to be her name or not though. Something she _did_ make sure of was to close the door behind her properly this time but then, instead continuing down the hall, she moved over to another door a few steps closer to the stairs on the opposite side of the corridor. She made a point out of always locking this particular door before heading to bed but as she hadn’t planned on doing that just yet, it had remained unlatched.

Just like in the bedrooms, the floor of the large office was carpeted but in this case it wasn’t about providing comfort or extra heat: it was to dampen sound, much like why the walls were clad in warm chocolate brown flocked wallpaper. Paintings decorated them as well as a tapestry of the Red Mountain on one end while two large bookcases, one sizable display cabinet with glass doors, a few filing cabinets, and a substantial settee with two armchairs done in a deep hunter green leather took up space in the room. The wood kept up the dark colour theme while the classy yet modern lamps dangling from the creamy ceiling and the expensive technology littering the room saved it from appearing old-fashioned and overly austere. It wasn’t only the place Eyrie worked but also where she could hold casual business meetings in a more professional looking yet somewhat relaxed environment. Normally she preferred to meet clients out in town or at their own offices though. It was also there in their own facility she could assess what they needed as far as their cyber-security went.

Moving over to the elaborate desk, she pushed the two folders on top of it to the side and put the tray down so she could grab the wireless phone from its base. Pressing the keys labelled 9 and EXT, she awaited the tune that would tell her a separate router had delivered her onto an encrypted extension. It didn’t even take two seconds.

Keying in a number she knew by heart, Eyrie waited as the line did its slow, monotone beeping in her tapered ear. At the fifth signal she frowned. Her mother was either busy, out or had gone to bed early. What with Auri’ada’s health steadily declining due to a terminal illness, Eyrie wasn’t surprised Dunmer wasn’t picking up but it meant she had to call this shot a bit blinded. When the sixth tune ended the Altmer hung up. She couldn’t drag this out too long, she concluded as she put down the phone, reclaimed the tray and exited the room.

She knew Igni never went in here – the woman respected her friend’s wishes on the matter that the office be left alone – but what about her other guest? Was the question _why_ he would go in there or _if_ he would? Eyrie thought it was more the former rather than the latter. And thus far, from her short observations of the Nord, he seemed to be of the mind to do and go where he pleased, as he pleased. _Well, not in my home he isn’t_ , Eyrie decided, and shut the door to her office firmly with a grim if somewhat ‘that’ll show _you_ ’ smile on her lips.

 _When in doubt and if you have the time for it, be cautious,_ the mer acquiesced as she took three short steps down the hall and crouched. Balancing the tray with one hand and on a hip, she stuck her hand under the plush rug. It only took a second to find the key. Once the office was locked and the key back in its place, Eyrie did feel a bit better. Just let Mr. High and Mighty try to get into the room now without making any noise. Not bloody likely.

When she entered the guest room again – after a quick knock and no reply – the mer found her unusual guest seated in the armchair facing the door, watching her. Sure, the mossy green leather piece was the only remotely comfortable appearing seat in the entire room but there was a small desk and accompanying chair in there as well. Maybe she was just over-thinking it too much.

Moving up to the desk, she put the tray on the end closest to him and cast the large man a glance. She found herself reflecting again that he had rather unnerving eyes on top of his whole off-putting demeanour. Besides the stoicism that was just this side of rudeness, he carried himself separate from those around him and even his surroundings. There, but not really a _part_ of them. Aloof, almost but that wasn’t quite right either. He just made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle unpleasantly, making her want to rub at them or shift her shoulders. She did neither, not wishing to give ground to this human or any indication that his very presence unsettled her.

“The mead, served cold,” she informed him with a small wave of one hand towards the bottle.

He met her gaze but there was just something in the way he sat completely immobile or perhaps it was his stiff posture even as he was leaning back into the thick cushioning of the chair – something she wasn’t sure if she would have noticed at a distance – that said he was watching her closely even when she wasn’t looking at him. Like a sabrecat in one of the zoos, sunning itself on a rock ledge and appearing oblivious to all the people gawking at it. At this proximity, Eyrie could almost taste what had to be a higher output of magicka in the air. She caught her tongue before it left her mouth to wet her lips. It was a nervous gesture as much as biting her bottom lip could be a sign of the former as well as annoyance. One thing was for sure though; she wasn’t going to be doing it in front of him no matter how unnerving – and if she was honest, somewhat appealing – the sensation of free magicka was as it ghosted over her skin, unhindered by such mundane things as clothing.

Could this man really be _leaking_ magicka? The concept was so foreign it sounded utterly inane. Even in her most uncontrolled moments she’d never leaked out that rare, precious energy. Used it without intention, yes, but literally have it rise off her body like an early spring mist? No, never. Neither had anyone else as far as she could remember being told about and her mother had made inquiries after the one time Eyrie completely lost it when she was threatened.

The Altmer wasn’t sure but after a moment of silent staring, _something_ in those black eyes seemed to change but what made her pull back to her full height, spine just a tad straighter than necessary and give a stiff “good night” before marching out was the feeling that he might just suspect how either his eyes or his magicka affected her. Eyrie preferred that to remain unknown and especially to the person who was the cause of both. She closed the door behind her with finality – she was far too refined to slam it but she did make sure to pull it firmly shut! – and forced herself not to rush over to her own bedroom and (hopefully) the person who could deliver some clarity because the corridor was decked out with polished wooden flooring, a long, plush runner carpet down the middle of it or no, she was not going to let anyone hear her hurrying to get away.

“All right, out with it,” she stated bluntly as soon as she came through her bedroom door, almost making Igni choke for a second time that evening, only it was on the remaining half of her sandwich. Eyrie walked up to human and poured her a glass of Sunset Rose, an almost pinkish amber-toned rosé wine from the valleys that faced Auridon on the northern half of Summerset. “Sorry, but I thought it wasn’t the best idea to give you a full bottle of Crystalline White,” the mer told her as she finished and walked back to her seat, reclaiming her own glass and topping it up with what was left of the old bottle. Even if Igni preferred it, the sweet white wine from the Nibenay Basin had a higher alcohol content than the dessert wine Eyrie had been sipping and with Igni’s tolerance not being the best in their group of friends, Eyrie chose to not indulge the Imperial today. Maybe _especially_ not today.

“You’re usually not stingy, Eyrie,” Igni grumbled unhappily as she grabbed her glass and took a hearty swallow. “Let me get drunk and forget today.” The Altmer arched a pointed brow as she moved around the bed before sitting down on the edge. It felt silly to have the queen-sized piece of furniture between them, like some sort of border.

“Stop stalling. He can’t have been that bad.” Eyrie shook her head gently but refrained from rolling her eyes, although it could have been argued that letting the sentiment behind the action tinge her words made the ‘exercise of restraint’ a moot point. Igni’s answer was a glare that could possibly have rivalled the sun, making both Eyrie’s brows rise but this time in mild surprise. The shorter woman didn’t need another prompt.

“He killed my phone just by _touching_ it and then the car died,” she groused, putting the now empty plate on the bedside table and sinking deeper into the armchair’s soft cushions. If she hadn’t been holding her wine glass in one hand, Eyrie thought Igni would also have grumpily crossed her arms, the better to give her gimlet eyes over. As it stood, the Imperial seemed to settle for hugging herself with just one arm and took a much needed second drink from her glass.

But it was Igni’s words more than her expression that tingled along Eyrie’s nerve endings, threatening to send a shiver racing down the mer’s spine. A long ago memory from her childhood whispered at the back of her head; upset emotions, harsh crying and then a complete blackout of the suburban villa. Eyrie had been the human equivalent of eleven. She could still recall her mother’s face, the mask of utter stupefaction that for a split few seconds gave way to blazing horror before the Dunmer mastered her visage again and held her daughter close as she calmed her. It wasn’t many months later that Auri’ada had acquired a transfer, a new position on mainland Tamriel as the chief diplomat in Valenwood for the Aldmeri Dominion to the countries on the continent, leaving Alinor and the heart of the Dominion behind. Her mother had just never pushed the land she called home out of her heart, no matter how far she went from it physically.

Eyrie loved the land of her birth as well. She’d loved living in Falinesti, the Imperial City and Solitude and maybe it was nostalgia talking, at least in part, but Alinor topped most of the locales she and her mother had lived over the years. The nation just felt more… full somehow. Complete. She wasn’t sure which word to use. Maybe charged? Alive? Vibrant?  It was difficult to go on only memories and mostly old ones since it’d been some time since Eyrie had been back there now and longer still since she’d last spent more than a week on any of the islands. Not that all this mattered at that express moment. Something else did – something aside from the magical bit, fascinating and distressing as it was.

“So, how did you get here if he somehow managed to destroy the engine of the car you so conveniently arrived in?” the mer asked smoothly, both brows arched high and close to her hairline once more. She needed to know how many others had seen this guy, which could easily be a fair number of people if her friend had gotten a tow truck and gone to a repair shop. Although upset as Igni was, Eyrie was wondering if the Imperial wasn’t exaggerating her story a little bit. Just a tad. She’d actually be happy if Igni was blowing things completely out of proportion this time. _This time._ Some part of her brain was whispering ominously that her friend wasn’t and this was about to get worse. A whole lot worse.

The answering glare this time was more on par with the Red Mountain erupting or a nuclear blast. _Any more now,_ Eyrie conceded with faint amusement, _and your eyes are actually going to burst into flames._

“I fixed it, okay?” Igni bit out slowly then she emptied her glass, refilled it and took another hearty swallow before she continued. “A guy stopped and helped me jump start it.”

The redheaded mer nodded even as the ice in her stomach began to grow into a small glacier. If all Igni had to do to get the car running again was to use another power source, an electrical one at that, then it was starting to sound eerily familiar. Not to mention uncomfortable. Shoving back the unwanted memories that particular thought process had dredged up, Eyrie gave herself a mental shake in order to return to the matter – or matters – at hand.

“How did he kill it?” she asked carefully, voice low not in an attempt to keep her friend’s temper from flaring but because she needed to keep herself calm. Project that facade and all, as her mother had taught her.

“I don’t know!” Igni not quite spat, the aggravation clear in her tone as she almost splashed the wine down the front of her top with her accompanying wild gesture. She appeared to force herself to regain a facsimile of composure with the next drink from her glass though because when she resumed speaking, her voice was once again carefully controlled and almost calm if still holding the barest hint of lingering irritation. “He was just sitting in the car. He touched the tablet and it died – not that he even seemed to understand _how_ it worked, the ancient hermit,” Igni grumbled an addendum that unknowingly had Eyrie’s muscles tightening, and not in a pleasant way. “He didn’t touch the phone, not that I could see, just sat next to it, and it ended up as fried as my tablet.”

The Altmer massaged a temple and made no attempt at hiding it. This was indeed getting worse with the more information the Imperial divulged. “Is that the order things happened in?” she questioned tiredly because if it was, it made no sense. Usually it escalated when it came to magicka hay-wiring or slipping beyond the borders of the body it was contained within. It didn’t fly all over the place in varying amounts like that. At least Eyrie felt it ought to take a lot more to kill a car than it did to blast the battery of a phone or tablet that both conducted electricity far easier than a vehicle designed to withstand outside and inside power surges.

“No.” The human woman almost sounded as though she was annoyed at having to go over everything in detail before they could address the proverbial mammoth in the room. “Tablet, phone, car,” she flipped up a finger for each item she mentioned. Dropping the hand to a thigh, Igni tipped her head slightly to the side, brilliant fire-eyes narrowed to speculative slits as she said, a bit sarcastically, “Although before that if you care to count it, was him popping out of bloody nowhere and the destruction of my handcuffs.”

Eyrie blinked sky blue eyes hard before focusing them onto Igni from where they’d fallen to regard the wine glass she supported on her knee because it had suddenly felt far easier to pick apart and explain the detailed process of how the Alinorian wine had been made than figuring out the seemingly impossible sequence of events and even more impossible conclusion sitting in her guestroom. Maybe if she started with the easiest part? “He broke your… handcuffs?” The sentence sounded oddly out of place, even to her ears; odd and more than a little bit out of place, if Eyrie were being honest with herself. Igni didn’t seem to notice though if her exasperated reply was anything to go on.

“Yes!”

“How?” the mer stressed before Igni could take the conversation and run them into some other topic that would divert their attention onto a completely other tangent. Another pertinent question hovered at the back of Eyrie’s mind but getting an answer to this one was more pressing.

“He smashed it!” At the incredulous stare from the person on the bed, Igni rolled her shoulders and searched for words. “Sort of?” she made the uncertain addendum before giving a sharp shrug. “I don’t know, he made ice appear on the metal and once it looked completely frosted over, he snapped it like a twig. And,” her voice rose a decibel in agitation at that word, “while it can get shitty cold in this place, it’s _never_ that cold,” she finished her declaration. She was right though, Igni knew she was. Now that she didn’t have that weirdo next to her and had to watch his every move and freaky eyes – _and his amusing reactions to speeding_ , her mind added in spiteful delight – she could go over all that’d happened in her head and… it was looking weirder by the minute, to be honest. Like some of those strange old legends she’d been forced to read as a child. Dragons and mythical heroes, magic wielding mages and necromancers and Daedric princes. Tcha! Yeah, like they’d ever been real! Tcha! Yeah, like they’d ever been real! Whoever wrote those tales had to be high on skooma.

“Igni…?” Eyrie’s smooth voice pulled her away from any deeper scrutiny of her problem. When golden amber met crystalline blue, Igni frowned but the mer spoke up before she could ask why the other woman had a peculiar, questioning look in her eyes. “Why,” a pause followed by a delicate clearing of her throat, “might I ask, do you have cuffs?” The air in the room immediately stilled.

The Imperial blinked, squirming lightly in her seat like a small worm on a very big hook. “They’re for emergencies,” she confessed slowly, carefully, as two pairs of eyes continued to meet, one golden set guarded and one bright blue considering and tinged with mischievous humour.

“I’m not an expert,” Eyrie said calmly enough, “but I would hazard to assume adult ones aren’t built solidly enough for er—” a cocked red brow and a twitch of a shoulder in the direction of the room where the large Nord was currently situated.

“They’re police-issued!” the suddenly rather red-faced Imperial hissed at her friend before the other woman had the chance to finish, hands now clenched into fists with a somewhat pale discolouration mottling her faintly freckled knuckles.

“Why do you have police-issued handcuffs?” Eyrie demanded as she tried her damnedest to keep a straight face in the, well… face of Igni’s flaming cheeks. It was very hard but she managed. Somehow.

“I told you! For emergencies!”

 _That colour isn’t subsiding_ , Eyrie marked amusedly before containing her mirth so she could speak without aggravating Igni further. It was very difficult to resist the urge to poke her friend though. “Unless you had an _adventure,”_ just the tiniest emphasis on that word paired with a subtle raising of her brows, “you were too embarrassed to tell me about, I _know_ you’ve not had a police officer in your house. So…” No one’s perfect… even if they appear to be. Perhaps especially if they appeared to be perfect. And Igni, gods bless her, had made it her life’s work to break free from that mould. So, a little poking never really hurt anyone anyway, right? And if Igni wasn’t getting poked one way, Eyrie would poke her in another. So to speak…

“It’s through the Treasury, okay!?” The information was relinquished none too happily from the now grumpy Imperial. Eyrie gave a gracious nod, smoothing her fingers over loose hair, tucking strands back behind her tall, tapered ears. Oh sure, _she_ was perfectly composed. Little Miss Prim and Proper, Igni glowered, reaching to fill her glass again. She needed more alcohol with the way this conversation was going. Since when had her sex life – or lack thereof! But that wasn’t the point! – become a topic for discussion?!

“Thank you.” She knew they’d supplied Igni with a handgun. Eyrie had even taken the Imperial with her during a few of her private practice sessions her mother had insisted she take after she was given her own semi-automatic. The Wispmother-200 was a dainty piece of work, at least compared to other models. It had been created for a woman’s smaller grip, had minimal recoil so there was no worries over her injuring herself once she had been properly taught. It still held up to eighteen rounds and was powerful enough to do some real damage to anything she fired at, though, which was the point. Eyrie had the ownership papers locked in a hidden safe along with the official license to conceal and carry the weapon, no matter what land she was in, but it wasn’t on public record that she actually _owned_ one. Just another little thing Auri’ada had somehow managed to pull out of seemingly thin air with her considerable skill, political clout and smooth-talking after the incident in Cyrodiil. At times Eyrie wondered what excuse her mother had given for her to be able to carry the gun but she never asked… mainly because she didn’t want to hear it, after all of that. However, if it’d been necessary to know, Auri’ada would most definitely have told her, regardless of her personal feelings on the matter. Her mother was ever practical that way.

They should move on, shouldn’t they? As fun and easy as continuing on in this particular topic was… They couldn’t. The mammoth in the room was still waiting to be addressed. What would be the best method though? Take the dragon – errr, mammoth – by the horns? Tusks? Whichever analogy suited…

“Ignatia.” A red head whipped Eyrie’s way and a wide, incredulous stare fastened on her. She wasn’t surprised, she rarely used Igni’s full name.  She flashed the human a quick but apologetic smile. This wasn’t going to be fun for either of them but it seemed Igni had seen a bit too much for it to be any other way.

“If you’re taking after him now, Eyrenni, I’m calling the men in white coats,” the Imperial warned, using the mer’s full name as well with a petulant flare, the faintly exasperated undertones making it sound like she was only half joking. Eyrie would have laughed to ease the tensions of this situation, if only it had been _any_ other situation than the current one.

“Taking after him?” Eyrie arched her finely-drawn brows again, leaning back on a hand as she uncrossed then recrossed her long legs, still perched at the edge of her bed. “I’m going to take it you mean all those things he did to your tech?” She had to pause and take a deep breath before letting it go on a heavy sigh. This revelation she was about to disclose to the Imperial might just make her call the men in white coats, as she’d threatened. “It was magic.” Igni’s stare was so unamused and sharp that it bordered on a glare. It made Eyrie wonder if her friend thought she was teasing her again or possibly misleading her if not lying to her.  Usually Igni wasn’t this hard to read but given the circumstances, Eyrie didn’t worry about her abilities slipping. “Magic does exist, it’s just not… been made public knowledge, nor is it prolific.” And wasn’t that the understatement of the era?

Igni’s face was blank; perfectly and completely blank. She didn’t even blink. Just sat there, staring at the mer like she’d lost her damned mind. Magic existed? Some ancient-ass, bufu old legends, ridiculously fanciful stories she was convinced had been written by people that had been either drunk or high or both, could _not_ be real. _Were_ not real. Eyrie had to be messing with her. Any other day, Igni would have asked if Eyrie had hit her head – like, _really_ hard, personality-altering hard – but what she had seen and experienced for herself today was just… too much. It pointed at exactly what the mer had said; magic. Which then meant that… all these crazy notions and beliefs she’d been so certain had to be propaganda to make you go to the temples and pray to the gods like a good little mortal so that you had protection against the wicked boogeymen Daedra... was actually _real_? _Not_ the delusions and wild imaginings of some drugged up, drunk, crazed lunatics? HOW WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT??? Any of this?!

What other explanation could Eyrie have given for the inexplicable shit that black-eyed, freakily dressed Nord whatever-the-fuck-he-was had done not just to the handcuffs but to her car, her phone, her tablet, the logical part of Igni’s brain countered with. Some scientific mumbo-jumbo that didn’t even come close to actually explaining any of it? Igni knew the mer wasn’t the type to do more than roll her eyes or give the speaker an indulgent smile when conspiracy theories were being touted around.

Swallowing heavily, the lingering sweet taste of the wine making her lips feel uncomfortably sticky and her throat somehow thick, Igni returned her gaze, which had drifted, back to the mer that sat poised a few feet from her. Nothing in Eyrie’s expression, eyes or posture said she was messing with her or being anything other than absolutely serious and forthright. Shit. That was _never_ a good sign when the Altmer got this way.

Well, fuck.

“I would ask you if you were shitting me,” the human began bluntly, perhaps just a tad too harshly but her tone – something that kept growing harder as her brain pulled their meeting back to the fore – and the glare was for the one person who wasn’t in the room to receive them. “But considering he appeared out of _nowhere_ when I opened a _book_ and fucking _landed on me_ , I won’t!” Igni punctuated her rising voice with three angry jabs of her index finger at the far wall that Eyrie’s bedroom shared with the guestroom. The mer remained surprisingly calm during the short tirade.

“You’re awfully agitated over such a small detail as having been used as an airbag,” she finally observed after allowing a moment during which Igni took a much needed drink from her glass. The human sent the mer a baleful stare as she refilled the crystal vessel.

“I am _not_ as padded as you are,” she complained sourly, golden eyes dropping to the evidence that filled out Eyrie’s pale blue blouse. The sting was softened somewhat by the humourous curl at the corners of the Imperial’s lips when she raised her gaze to once more meet the other woman’s.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever received such a glowing compliment on my curves before,” Eyrie noted dryly with a light-hearted smile as she once again moved one long, stocking-clad leg over the other, the hand not holding her wine glass resuming its resting upon the plum-coloured bedspread with the mer leaning on it.

Igni now levelled a glare at her friend as she contemplated whether to drink this second glass slower or just down it all and take the bottle hostage for the night. She hadn’t exaggerated though. Igni herself wasn’t a stick or model thin. She had good muscles and decent core strength to give her body definition – a slightly tomboyish or, as her parents had lamented it, less than refined streak in her youth, had put her on the path of not being a daintily elegant porcelain doll of a lady – but she still had curves enough to make her feel feminine. She just wasn’t as endowed as the mer when it came to… well, her bosom. With the other woman’s hourglass figure, she’d often wondered how Eyrie coped with having so much up top; it made her own shoulders and back ache in sympathy at times. Had the Imperial been of a mind to, she could have worn the cups of the mer’s bra as a skullcap if the fancy struck her.

In fact, she knew she could because she’d tried it once, much to her friend’s slightly embarrassed but mostly insulted glare. Hey, at least they’d been in the privacy of a changing stall! You try lingerie shopping alone. Nightmare!

Eyrie was slender as well and while her height gave her more muscle mass than Igni, the Altmer didn’t exercise as much as the human did but somehow retained her lithe, willowy figure. Something Igni wanted to strangle Eyrie for; it just wasn’t fair that the other woman could get away with not busting her butt in the gym and still be so slim! But to be fair, on her birthday Eyrie had mentioned she was currently in the human equivalent of her mid-twenties. Igni was turning twenty-eight once the month of Evening Star came around. It wouldn’t take long before their age gap was significant but ever since an unfortunate event in their youth, Eyrie had matured and quickly, too, at that.

All of that aside, prone to imperturbable logic and mature wisdom or not, it didn’t explain how her friend was maintaining her cool as a cucumber demeanour…  Igni’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the mer. “Why are _you_ taking this so calmly?”

She knew Eyrie wasn’t particularly religious – far too analytical and with a strong belief in psychology and technology for that – so how was it she was taking such a thing as magic in stride? The Imperial wasn’t very superstitious or religious either but why was _Eyrie_ the one to state it actually existed? On her way here Igni had honestly thought and worried about what she would have to do or say to prove it to the Altmer once they arrived. She hadn’t wanted to believe it either but, slapped in the face, even metaphorically speaking, as she had been, it was getting more difficult to deny the facts that lined up just a little too perfectly.

“Because, Igni, I’ve always known about its existence.” A pair of golden amber eyes stared stupidly at her but Eyrie refrained from any nervous twitching. It was a rather anticlimactic answer but it seemed the best way to go about it. Rip off the bandage quickly and all that. Igni was still staring at her though, so maybe some further explanation was in order.

“I’ve had a few experiences with it but it’s mostly because of my mother,” the mer added with an ambiguous wave of a hand.

Igni jerked as the whole room seemed to snap back into focus. Prejudiced theories and speculation she’d heard over the course of her life, all of which had sounded too much like conspiracy theories, starting to buzz at the fringes of her memory. She’d deduced on her own – and had gleaned from the freely given information on the television – she knew the mer’s  mother was a part of the Thalmor. That wasn’t what had her suspicions rising. But there was the odd, biased asshat about that still complained about elves… or orcs or argonians or the khajiit. Hells, anybody, really. Still, there were those who spoke none too fondly of the Aldmeri Dominion and even with more hostility about the Thalmor. From what little she knew of Eyrie’s adoptive mother, the woman had abilities of her own that afforded her such a positions of prominence as First Ambassador more than once.

Igni narrowed her eyes still further before emptying her glass. She wasn’t driving anywhere tonight so why not? Especially after having had it confirmed magic was flipping real! Setting the empty vessel down onto the small, square inlaid tabletop next to her seat, she pinned Eyrie with a level gaze. “Does Auri’ada—”

“No.” Eyrie was quick to cut off that line of questioning, the warning look from suddenly very serious eyes making the human snap her mouth abruptly shut. “It’s because of her work. Never her.” A shake of the fiery red head accompanied the clarification and while it settled some things it just shifted the focus. Or blame, however you now wanted to see it.

Most conspiracy theories – at least those presented or made up by non-mers – usually flagged one of the elven races as the party hiding or orchestrating whatever said conspiracy theory was about. However, most of the time the Thalmor ended up taking the brunt of it all. They were, after all, the biggest and most influential party sitting in the Aldmeri Dominion’s governing body. They also occupied all but one seat on the Royal Advisory Council. To say that the Thalmor dominated not only Alinorian but Dominion politics as a whole was an understatement and as such it wasn’t surprising that some thought there had to be something more hidden somewhere or an underlying, hidden, nefarious agenda. Apparently those suspicious dissidents had been correct, albeit partially; the Thalmor _had_ been hiding a bit of the truth from the masses. Not that Eyrie would out-right say that. She had several reasons and all of them were good.

The mer heaved a tired sigh and massaged one temple lightly, as if she had the beginnings of a headache. “I know you’re getting a bit of a crash course, to put it indelicately,” she ignored Igni’s muttering about never having been delicate to begin with and continued, “but we’re going to have to move on from this point and to the next.”

Igni flicked a glance at the bottle of wine and her empty glass, debating. Sober or not sober? Rubbing her eyes and shoving hair that had come loose out of her face, she asked bluntly, “How many are there left?”

 _Too many,_ Eyrie answered the question mentally but refrained from showing any outward sign of the laundry list of things racing through her mind. _One thing at a time,_ she reminded herself.

Shifting her position on the edge of her bed again to get more comfortable, she finished her own wine before reaching over to set the now empty glass next to Igni’s. “You and Miraak will stay the night, of course. Even with the sandwich, you’ve had too much to drink to drive.” Eyrie paused, holding up a hand to forestall the protest she could see forming on the other woman’s lips. “I insist. As for him…” Again the pause as she considered.

Wouldn’t it be nice if she could just stuff him in a box and leave him somewhere so the two of them wouldn’t have to deal with this rather large problem? Well, she supposed she could talk Igni into arranging for a mistake to happen and then burying him beneath the roses as she had first thought of but… no. As attractive as that solution was… no.

She still had too many questions that needed answering. Like where, precisely, he had come from, how had he gotten here, _what_ was Ignatia doing over on Solstheim in the first place – mental note to call Karliah about that, if necessary! – was magic now manifesting on that island as well? What was that book the Imperial had mentioned in passing… Far too many questions needed answering before any long-term and possibly permanent solution would get decided on.

Until then...

Clearing her throat lightly, Eyrie sat forward slightly, just enough to show how deadly serious she was being with her next words. “For now, we need to keep your new friend under wraps.” She ignored the fierce scowl Igni was giving her. “We need to somehow convince him to keep his… abilities to himself.”

Igni snorted, rolling her eyes so hard the mer was surprised they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Yeah, you do that. Me? I think I’m going to finish the bottle and fall face first into bed. We can deal with High King Hard Head in the morning.”

Eyrie couldn’t quite keep from smiling at that rather accurate description. “Fair enough.”

Rising from her seat, the mer made her way across the room towards the door that led to the master ensuite. “I’ll just take a nice, long bath and give you some privacy with your wine. Do try not to pass out on the floor, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the clashing of personalities, revelations, hints and more! Oh, and the ESO cameo mention.  
> Altmeris:  
> Suna ye sunnabe, pella rille – Bless and be blessed, honoured guest  
> Pella rille – honourable stranger (literally)
> 
> Dovahzul:  
> Drem yol lok, insehofkah – Greetings, host/master of the house
> 
> Edit: Caught the miss in the colours of Eyrie's clothing early on. XD;
> 
> So, this took a long time! Lol. Sorry. RL interrupted and then the muses took vacation. Well, mine (Summer) ended up art land. Whoops. At least it was a longer than normal chapter. These will happen. This size and bigger. Tell us if there is a preference in size. (So many puns)  
> I'm looking into an email I could possibly drop for those of you who would like to comment or make a note or drop a question but don't have an account.


	5. Dragons and mammoths and women, oh my!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Miraak plots, Igni pretends to be a draugr and Eyrie tries to sort out the "magicka nuclear bombs" her friend brought her. Oh, and the girls try making Mr. Congeniality a bit more inconspicuous since he's currently the biggest pink mammoth in Skyrim since the 9E started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't have an AO3 or DA account and still want to drop a comment, question or the like:  
> msr_guild@outlook.com  
> If you want to address it to either Kalla or I in particular, just drop the name at the top or in the subject line. We'll strive to get back to you! :)

 

~ Later that evening ~

Eyrie lounged in the water that was as warm as her blood, idly drifting her fingertips through the froth of bubbles that covered her chest, a damp washcloth over her eyes. The soft rustlings of Igni from her bedroom came faintly through the closed door. Peace, quiet and time to think. This was exactly what she had needed after these most recent upheavals and developments.

Her mind flitted to the human man down the hall in the guest room. She fancied she could almost feel the magicka he seemed to radiate, even in here. But she knew that was possible. How were they going to convince him that he needed to blend in and, more to the point, follow their directives? Miraak did not seem the type of person to take orders willingly. Not unless he wanted to take them.

_That’s putting it one way,_ Eyrie thought as she flipped the handle to the hot water on with the toes of one foot. In fact, it reminded her of a certain someone else she knew! Two of them, actually. Still, between Igni and herself, she was certain they could figure something out.

Otherwise, her rose bushes might just end up with a permanent addition. Maybe even three of them.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chair in which he sat was very comfortable. The cushions were deep and soft, welcoming. The tray the Altmer had set down on the table, with the cup and bottle of mead, remained untouched. It was not that he wasn’t thirsty or hungry but that his thoughts took precedence over such mundane concerns.

He hadn’t actually had to worry about those things in – what year had the two women said it was? He wasn’t sure. Everything had gone by in a blur of confusion. He’d never actually felt such a strong sense of dislocation, even when he’d been in the realm of Apocrypha, the domain of the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora. There was no such thing as time there; it was a concept, as ephemeral, as temporal, as existence. Whatever the Prince wished, was.

There was no day, no night. No hours. Nothing by which to mark the passage of his existence in that hell of Oblivion. And it had become a hell for him. The allure of the power Hermaeus Mora had given him, the knowledge, had begun to fade once he realized he would be trapped there.

At first, Miraak had been allowed to move freely between Apocrypha and Mundus, drinking in the wisdom contained within. The histories of Nirn that the Prince had meticulously and carefully accumulated through others that had agreed to serve Him.

And many more that had not.

What had led him here, to this time and this place? It certainly was not Apocrypha. That much was clear. Had it all started when he had been a small boy, recruited by the priests to serve in their great temples? Had that been the beginning of his tale or what had simply started him down the path that had led to his enslavement?

There was the little known myth that the Skaal were actually the descendants of some of Ysgramor’s Five Hundred that had come to Solstheim. The blood of old Atmora. No one knew the truth; not the Skaal, not himself and not Hermaeus Mora, which infuriated the prince. He had thought by tearing the memories from the shaman, Storn Crag-Strider, he would finally have those answers but no.

All that had happened was that the Daedra had chosen another champion. A woman with the soul of a dragon.

Like Miraak himself had.

And his fate had been sealed.

Or so he had thought, at the time. Maybe all the punishment he had endured as he trained his mind and body in the temple of the dragon priests hadn’t been in vain. He had been taught magic. How to wield sword, axe and bow.  Military tactics to go along with the menial tasks he had been given to perform. He had learned to read, to write, all in several different languages, including Dovahzul. And it was then that his true nature had been revealed.

The transition from servant to revered priest, standing even above the others because he was clearly more than merely human, had been intoxicating. He had been young, brash, had let the power go to his head. Pride. The downfall of every great personage. As it had been his.

He was both human and dragon; should he not, too, be as exalted as they? But the dragons had refused. He was tainted, unclean. Mortal, they spat the word at him with fire and frost. Human. Servant. Slave.

If the great winged fiends would not let him join their ranks… He would make them no more. He was the first of his kind. The True Dragonborn. Wasn’t it his destiny to save the world from such beasts?

Hubris, Hevnoraak, another priest, had screamed when Miraak had brought down the dragon that called the temple mount its home with his own Thu’um. Murderer. Defiler. Betrayer. Now the bones of many other dov littered the ground around the temple. Testament that he was no mere mortal man but something altogether different.

They had cast him out, the other priests. They refused to lift the yoke of their servitude to the dragons not just from their own shoulders but from the people who thought the beast gods and their acolytes their voices. It had been widely known that Dovahzul could render them into non-existence and the only ones who could withstand it were the faithful men and women of the priesthood. They were the only ones allowed, the only ones fit, deemed worthy, to commune with the dragons.

Lies. Falsehoods. Deceptions, perpetuated by the dragons and enforced by those who served them. His own brothers and sisters had refused to see, to open their eyes and realize that he, Miraak, was meant to bring about those winged tyrants downfall. That it was he who was meant to face Alduin, the World-Eater, the eldest, the first-born of the children of Akatosh.

Hermaeus Mora had known. And had sought him out. Lured him with the temptation of knowledge, a means to an end. With the power to bring to heel to kneel before him all those who dared to defy him his rightful place on Nirn.

All Miraak need do was find the Black Books, read them. And he would have that knowledge, that power. Right at his fingertips.

So he had done it.  He had drunk of that poisoned cup like a man dying of thirst, unaware of the taint until it had been far too late. Miraak had removed one collar of slavery only to have it be replaced with another.

If he had thought the oppression of the dragons had been a hellish existence, it had been nothing compared to the degradations he had endured from the creature that now owned him, body and soul.

Yes, at the beginning he had been allowed to move freely between the realm of Apocrypha and Mundus because of the Books and had used his newly-acquired knowledge to bring about the destruction of the very priesthood he had been a part of. Some had joined his cause, had rallied to his banner when he had made his intentions known. He had learned words, could now tame the dragons, bend their wills to his own so they would fight against one another. Just as the priests that had joined him had fought their brethren.

Vahlok had surprisingly joined him, had been one of his closest allies. Drunk with his own power, his ego bolstered by the open adulation of those who served and followed him, Miraak had not seen the betrayal until it had been too late. Vahlok had made a deal behind his back with Hermaeus Mora. In exchange for Miraak, who would be quite a prize with his natural aptitude for Dovahzul and his abilities to tame the ageless dragons, Vahlok would be the prince’s next champion. Nevermind that all those who had chosen to follow the Dragonborn would now be his, Vahlok’s, to lead. They would worship the prince instead and offer Him up all the things they learned to honour Him.

Of course, this made perfect sense to Hermaeus Mora. Without Miraak to stop Alduin, the world would go on and He would be able to see what would happen then on Nirn.

So it was that Miraak had then found himself imprisoned in Apocrypha. No longer able to experience the realm of his birth, to fulfil his destiny as Dragonborn. One of the few pleasures he’d received was that Hermaeus Mora did not get to experience the end of Nirn.

He knew this from the few that were tempted, just as he had been, into the prince’s realm, or had fallen or somehow slipped through. They brought him news of what had been happening. Told him that eras had come and gone. But they became just as trapped as he was, transforming into Seekers or Lurkers to be the guardians of Hermaeus Mora’s realm.

Even now the recollection of those creatures filled him with anger. The Seekers, grotesque beings that had protuberances grown from their bulk. No legs with which to walk, they floated above the black stones, having only stub-like arms to carry the tomes that littered Apocrypha. At the centre of their malformed bodies was a maw with needle-point teeth but instead of using them to rip and tear their foes to shreds, the Seekers emitted pulses of magic that could stagger if not completely incapacitate.

The Lurkers were even worse. Giant grotesques that were an amalgam of some creature from the murky depths of the seas, with heads like those beings atop a twisted, bony body that still retained a faintly humanoid shape. Their skin had become a deep purple-black, long black claws had sprouted from their elongated fingers and toes. They had two rows of jagged fangs in their huge mouths and could vomit forth a deadly acidic poison mass of tentacles.

They had all been mortal once, all had been born to Mundus and they had all given themselves to the Prince of Knowledge _willingly_. They had _willingly_ become these mere… shadows of their true forms, given in, given up and given away their minds, their wills, their powers. Inferior…

They were inferior beings but capable servants when he had needed them.

One thing was for sure though; he would never become like them.

Surprisingly enough, Vahlok had made good on his end of the bargain with the prince and had delivered not only some of the men and women who would slowly transform into the Seekers and Lurkers but had also somehow managed to entrap dov.

They had served Miraak as well. Had even welcomed him and shown him deference and respect.

He finally shifted in his seat, reaching for the bottle of mead but pausing with his hand half-way to the flask. The realization slammed into him like a blow to the solar plexus, momentarily leaving him without the ability to breathe. He had tried once before to escape Hermaeus Mora and Apocrypha and had failed. He drew his hand back, laying it on the soft mossy green leather arm of the chair. He was free.

He was no longer trapped in the realm of the god. He was back in Mundus. But how? It could not have been through magic; there was barely a trace of it here. The Altmer woman had vestiges of it but where once it had been there for the taking, now there was barely a whisper of it.

It might be another trick of Hermaeus Mora’s. A deception. A game. Or a test.

Well, if that was the case, then he would just have to wait and see what move the two women made, wouldn’t he? He had questions for Ignatia.

The main one being: How had she brought him from the realm of Apocrypha to here?

Until then, he would have to cooperate with them or make them think he would do as they wished. It was one of the many things he had learned in his life; lull those about you into a sense of false-security then when they least expected it, spring your trap. Surprise was one of the best tactics.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyrie exited her bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white robe only to find Igni lying face down on the bed, empty wine bottle in the hand that dangled over the edge of the bed, snoring softly. All the mer could do was shake her head gently with an indulgent smile as she went to carefully remove said empty flask from the Imperial’s grasp. Well, that had been much simpler than she had anticipated. At least now Eyrie wouldn’t be subjected to any more of the human woman’s injudicious remarks.

Lifting the bottle she studied it even as her mind began to wander in the direction of her other “guest”. Would he still be sitting there like a bloody statue? Or passed out like Igni? If he was inebriated from one little bottle of mead, that would be more than slightly disappointing given his size – he was as tall as her own boyfriend and built like the typical Nord! However, it would serve the big oaf right since he had refused the offer of food; suspicious jackass that he was turning out to be. What did he expect her to do? Poison him? That was hardly the way someone taught how to be a proper hostess would act. You poisoned them _after_ the meal. No point in ruining good food for everyone.

Jokes aside, the urge to peek into the guestroom was like an itch, a really strong itch, but she ignored it. She had been raised to have better manners than that. It would be entertaining in a few hours if he had a hangover, though. One could hope, anyway.

And speaking of that oversized nuisance… What had Igni said about how he appeared? She’d mentioned a book she found in the ruin. Sky blue eyes crawled over to Igni’s small tote bag where it lay at the foot of the bed. She’d thought the weird energy had just been coming from Miraak but it lingered in this room, like a gossamer shroud or a film on a pair of dirty glasses, making her feel as though there was a thin smog in the air. The large Nord hadn’t been in her bedroom though, so the lingering residue of magicka that disturbed her couldn’t be from him.

Eyrie licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, eyes still glued to the tote. Igni must have brought the book into the house. She wouldn’t have left an acquisition for the Treasury out in the car. The Blue Heights was as safe as an upper class neighbourhood could be, making the risk of a vehicular break-in minimal to nil. Still, it was just smarter to bring anything of undisclosed value indoors.

She caught herself rolling her shoulders uncomfortably and stopped mid-motion. Tearing her gaze from the tote – something that was not as easy as it should have been, a fact that disturbed her all on its own – she transferred it onto Igni’s sleeping form.

Should she check first and see if it was just her? Maybe she _could_ sense Miraak’s leaking energies all the way from the guestroom and there was nothing ominous awaiting her in the tote? Wouldn’t that be nice? Then again, considering how the evening had gone thus far… She doubted her luck would turn now.

Moving closer to the mahogany nightstand, Eyrie put down the wine bottle as her eyes yet again crawled over to focus on Igni’s luggage. Time seemed to slow down, the seconds melting away, one into another, until it seemed everything stood still, her entire focus narrowing down to that blasted tote and what she knew but tried to deny was contained within it. She couldn't hear her heart beating in her own ears even if a cold-sweat had broken out behind them and trickled unpleasantly down her back. She could just as easily blame that on water still caught in her hair but…

There was something extremely… off-putting about that bag. It made Eyrie’s skin want to crawl, like she didn’t even want to touch it. Which was strange as it was just a bloody gods-damned bag! Squaring her slender shoulders and lifting her chin, she glared defiantly down at the satchel. _All right. Enough pussy-footing about_ , Eyrie told herself.

But she didn’t move even a single inch.

A staring contest. With a bag. Pathetic.

She had to check. Even with as disconcerting as the emanations coming from the bag were, she had to check. Igni apparently hadn’t suffered any visible or major ill effects – if you didn't count Miraak, of course – so that would indicate that whatever Eyrie was sensing had to be magical in origin and if that was the case then she really _had_ to check it, for her own self-assurance that whatever was in there was not, in fact, a nuclear magicka bomb just waiting to explode. Her mother would have told her as much.

That set her back straight. Like it or not, she had to do it. And she really did _not_ like it, thank you very much!

The first two steps were more like her shuffling unwillingly towards the bag-monster that seemed to be watching her malevolently, a deadly viper coiled and ready to strike; if the goose-bumps prickling her skin were any indication, this notion was more than just a mere fancy of her over-wrought imagination! The realisation of how silly she must look had Eyrie huffing out an irritated breath, straighten up with almost military precision and march over to the Oblivion-accursed bag. It only took a few steps to reach it. She wished it’d taken longer.

Kneeling down beside it, Eyrie hesitated for a heartbeat before grabbing the damned thing and jerking it open. It wasn't like whatever was inside was going to leap out and attach itself to her face let alone bite her. The man in her guestroom was likely more apt to do that – bite her, that is.

The inside of the bag was surprisingly – or perhaps disappointingly – empty of immediate, magical threats, as far as she could discern. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Perhaps something straight out of a movie? There was a really ugly… mask on top? It faintly resembled an octopus or squid, traces of a magical aura leaking faintly off of it; not enough to be precisely alarming but definitely enough to hold her attention for a few moments. That wasn’t good.

Beneath that was a large parcel, wrapped in a heavy rough fabric that appeared to be cloth-sacking. The instant Eyrie’s fingertips brushed it, the stronger jolt of magicka rippled over her, making it feel as if her hair was standing on end. But it wasn’t that which had her snatching her hand away as if she’d been burned; that sense of dread, of _wrongness_ , had been almost over-powering. Her heart was racing like she had just run a thirty mile marathon nonstop, there was a harsh buzzing, ringing in her ears and she felt cold and hot at the same time. It was more than just a little disconcerting. And a _lot_ disturbing.

The quick flash of images in her mind that accompanied her touching of the sacking had been bleak; not barren but black, cold and sterile. It was like trying to see something through a dark glass saturated with a slick oily substance. She couldn’t confirm with any certainty she’d actually _seen_ anything. No more than she could confirm hearing the treacly, bubbling laughter either in her head.

Eyrie glanced nervously at the bed and the Imperial woman who was still passed out to see if Igni had heard the laughter as well. It didn’t appear so; she was still fast asleep. Then again, waking a drunken Igni was like trying to wake a draugr. Sounded about the same too, if movie adaptions were anything to go on.

Running the hand she had touched the parcel with down her terrycloth clad thigh, as if trying to wipe away the sensation of something foreign and unpleasant on her skin, she debated on what to do with this new… discovery. Clearly, these things, whatever they were, had been imbued with magicka but the package had something she could not identify as well. It was ominous, that was for sure.

Which brought Eyrie back around to wondering exactly why Karliah would send Igni to Solstheim and those particular ruins. The Altmer would have to set a meeting with the Dunmer either way – partially due to her “guest” – but with this… unfortunate little – HA! – development, that meeting was by now a must in the near future. Right now, Eyrie needed to do something about this disturbing thing in the bag though. As strong as the urge to burn it was, she doubted she could do that. Not until they knew more about it. To top it off, she had never destroyed something with magicka locked inside it like this, nor had she heard of anyone doing it. There was no telling what would happen to the trapped energy. Would it explode? Trickle away from the physical remains like it seemed to do when a person with an innate magicka fount died? Or would it linger? Seep into whatever was nearby? She did _not_ want that. If it was getting destroyed, it wasn’t anywhere near her property. That was for later though. In the meantime… Where could she put it? Not to mention what excuse or explanation could she devise that would placate Igni enough to allow the mer to retain possession of this… anomaly?

_Fuck politeness,_ Eyrie thought as she rose to her feet, picking up the whole damned bag. She didn’t want to touch the contents again if she could help it. She did spend a thoughtful moment to search through the outside pockets for the human woman’s phone, wallet and keys to her car. The phone didn’t look as though there was anything wrong with it at a glance, Eyrie noted as she placed both items carefully on the bedside table before she crept quietly from her room, holding the satchel as far from herself as could be managed.

Eyrie paused again in the hallway once she had carefully shut the door and cast a nervous glance at the other bedroom door. She listened intently, straining to hear any sound emanating from within but all was silent. That was either a good thing or a portent of disaster on its way. The mer closed her eyes briefly, giving her head a shake and turned towards her office. She had a very large, several inches thick safe behind a keypad locked door. It would serve to stash these proverbial magicka nuclear bombs for now. And hadn’t this evening just gotten stranger still? Karliah wasn’t the only name on the list of people to call as soon as she had a moment alone tomorrow.

Walking up to the office door again, the mer placed the tote on the floor as she hunted down the key. She always did tell her mother everything – well, more or less? It wasn’t like she went and regaled the older woman with sexscapades or the like – but the turn of events this evening were more than necessary to tell Auri’ada.

Besides which, her mother had a nasty way of finding things out anyhow. It had been truly unnerving sometimes how Eyrie had been dead certain all her secrets were safely stashed away and that she had cleaned up any messes to the best of her ability only to get an unexpected phone call – or worse yet, an actual visit – from her mother and Auri’ada knowing every tiny detail of what had transpired. Eyrie didn’t keep secrets from her mother anymore, not really. It was just safer – and healthier on all levels – to be upfront with her. The woman was truly scary when she wanted to be.

If the Altmer didn’t know better, she would have said Auri’ada was magical in some way but she knew her mother didn’t have magic… wasn't a magus or whatever they were called, those men and women who wielded that arcane power so effortlessly. Or had. The ambassador wasn’t even sensitive to it nor did she have an innate fount of magicka but she _did_ know about how it was seeping back into the world slower than a Sload. Or at least that had been the rate it was going at until sometime in the early years of one-forty. Something had changed around that time, Eyrie did not know exactly _what_ , and suddenly the influx of otherworldly energy had almost doubled.

That being said, it was nowhere near the almost tangible power Eyrie felt dripping off of Miraak. At least she didn’t think it was. She hadn’t visited Alinor or Valenwood in little over a decade and a half now and there was hardly even a buzz in the air of Skyrim. Or had the increase up here been so subtle she hadn’t noticed it?

She stopped dead in her tracks, office door now open an inch and hand on the key she’d been about to pull out of the lock.

Was that it? Had the magical spike that appeared in the heart of the Dominion almost sixty years ago finally reached Skyrim? Or was it just duplicating at random? Sort of how the early warning signs of an earthquake on the Calcelmo Scale allowed you to estimate when and what magnitude the real shake was going to be like.

Her hand tightened on the door handle, full lips thinning slightly as she pressed them together unhappily.

No. That was ridiculous. It couldn’t be that.

Eyrie cast an uncertain eye at the bag sitting there so innocently half a foot away. Ha! Innocent, her ass!

But if nothing else, she should have felt, sensed any sudden burst of magicka like that. At the very least had a hiccup herself, right? Solstheim wasn’t that far away, was it? Maybe that was the problem and it wasn't a sudden burst but only that the trickle had grown stronger, becoming more a streamlet. Oh this was a thought, now. One the mer was certain her mother would have warned her about so what had happened in Cyrodiil, did not repeat itself here in Skyrim.

Making a mental note to look at a map later to see the exact distance between Solitude and the island, Eyrie pulled her key free of the lock and pushed the door open enough so that she wouldn’t have to use hands or hip on it once she’d grabbed the tote again. She had a moment where she considered pushing the big satchel in front of her with her foot so she didn’t have to touch it again but shoved the desire aside. The sooner its contents were locked up, the better.

Reaching into the room, Eyrie flicked on the sparsely spread wall fixtures instead of the overhead lights. Those things resembled mood lighting more than anything but they were great if you just needed a bit of extra light like now. Grabbing the khaki coloured bag by its straps, she strode briskly into the room and nudged the door firmly shut behind her with a well-placed heel. She doubted she needed to lock the door properly for this short trip. If anyone tried to enter she would see the movement of the door before they spotted her anyway. Besides, she did have things that classified as weapons in here…

Her mind went briefly to the tranquiliser pistol locked away in one of the top drawers of her office desk, a remnant from about a year ago when Kalla had made her rather precipitous reappearance into the Altmer’s life again. Neither of them had known what to expect back then and Eyrie was only a little embarrassed to say she’d slept with the tranq gun under her pillow the first few weeks or so. After that, it had slowly but surely migrated into the office and remained there as it became clear the tiny Nord had control over her… unexpected addition. The reason why Eyrie had never gotten rid of the gun even after Kalla got her own place – mostly because she nearly went stir crazy from hiding at her friend’s place that, according the Kalla, had too many fancy breakables and nice perfume clogging up her now very sensitive nose – was because it was just easier to keep it. That and as an… assurance, a ‘just in case’, should anything happen in the future.

Eyrie didn’t have to like it but she knew she needed backup plans and backup plans for the initial backup plans; and so on and so forth until all angles – and asses, or assets, depending on your point of view! – were covered. Predict, prevent, prevail; it was her mother’s mantra and after a certain incident in her youth, Eyrie stuck with it with blind determination.

Putting the bag down on the settee in front of a large tapestry of a highly detailed rendition of the Red Mountain decorating the short wall, Eyrie glanced at the door. It remained resolutely still and not a peep came from the hallway beyond it. She didn’t doubt her large guest could be silent if he wanted to. She knew at least one man who was nearly Miraak’s size and height and he could be damned quiet when he wanted to. A corner of her wide mouth twitched as a flush creeped up into her cheeks as one such incident came blindingly yet briefly into her mind. Good times, fond memories. Giving herself a bit of a shake and shelving those wicked imaginings for later, she went back to the matter at hand. Double entendre not intended, of course.

What other kind of predictions could she make about the strange and apparently ancient Nord?

Probably not enough. Then how was she to prevent things from happening? Some would say; simple, you can’t. Eyrie detested that kind of simplistic reasoning. Then again, there was always the “Kalla Solution”; kill the source of your irritation and bury it under her roses. No more problem. Eyrie still wasn’t certain if the tiny human woman had been entirely serious or only joking when she’d said that. One never knew with Kalla but the woman had a mind for solutions, just like Eyrie’s mother. Although it felt like the Dunmer somehow always managed to one-up everyone else. It made it very hard to follow in Auri’ada’s footsteps but Eyrie would always strive to be her mother’s daughter. It’d proven the safest path after all. The more you could predict and prevent, the less people got hurt unnecessarily, or worse. Sometimes a few sacrifices were necessary, especially from yourself, but it was worth it in the long run.

So, what did you do about a situation you couldn’t predict much about? If you had the time, you slept on the bloody matter – something she did and would – but if all else failed, restrict the problem as much as possible. A stray thought ran over to the desk and poked at the drawer with the tranq gun.

_What if you sneak in there, tranq his rude ass and then lock him up somewhere until you can speak to Mother?_

Eyrie shook her head sharply. That… As appealing as that may be, she couldn’t. Playing tag with a dart filled with enough tranquiliser that it could drop a literal mammoth with the big Nord aside, if Miraak had so much magicka in his body that it _leaked out_ then he had to have some active magic just like her. She was not interested in testing just how much he had to draw upon or what other sorts of nasty tricks he might have in his arsenal. She barely poked at her own to any greater extent. Besides, they wanted to keep that stuff on the down low, not have it start flying left and right. During her time in Skyrim, Eyrie had only once before lost the grip on her emotions enough to have a minor flare of electricity fire off and even then it hadn’t done more than make the lights hiccup a few times fast.

Having had some time to think about it in the bath, Eyrie would hazard a guess now that the reason she found Miraak’s presence so appealing was because there still wasn’t a lot of magicka in Skyrim, and that was despite how his magicka felt… off. Tainted, almost. Not so much unclean as impure, as if it were filtered through stagnant water.

_Not as off as that disturbing thing though,_ she thought with a grimace as she pushed the tapestry aside and began punching in the code for the safe’s digital lock. One passcode later the door gave a soft click, allowing the Altmer to pull it open.

Now came the fun part! …Not. She had to touch the disgusting parcel again, or at least the material wrapped around it. She considered shoving Igni’s whole bag in there as she studied it but after a few seconds she heaved a defeated sigh. She couldn't do that, as much as she would like to. Her skin was rippling into goose-bumps again from just standing here staring at it and the urge to rub at her arms wasn’t because of a chill but due to the slightly oily sensation saturating the air this close to whatever was contained within that wrapping. Igni would tell her tomorrow, she was sure, considering she knew what to ask about now.

Grabbing the mask whose dirty antique gold alloy surface felt colder and more slippery than the metal had any right to be in Eyrie’s mind – but felt _a lot_ easier to hold than her actual target – the Altmer used  the end with stylised tentacles to lift the edge of the parcel and peek beneath it. Nothing jumped out at her – even literally, she’d more than half-expected a nameless _something_ to leap out at her and perhaps latch onto her face – as extremely important, valuable or of greater interest to the Wolfqueen’s Treasury, so she dropped the fabric-wrapped, nausea-inducing item back into place.

And then she stood there. With the flipping mask held in front of her chest like some sort of shield against the figurative bomb in Igni’s bag. She _had_ to touch it to move it. It was only a two feet distance at most. She could do it.

Eyrie continued to stare as the old-fashioned style clock on the far wall that ticked away the seconds.

She could do this. She _would_ do this. Come Oblivion or high water, she would.

A sharp shiver raced across her skin, causing her to twitch harshly.

She fucking well could! Eyrie glared at the package and quickly dropped a hand into the bag before she changed her mind again or something.

A sigh that sounded more like a slither whispered from behind. Eyrie jerked her hand back like it had been scalded as she whirled around, the violent movements causing her balance to slip. She stumbled back into the edge of the settee, smashing her heel into the mahogany foot of the furniture as her head whipped around, trying to detect the fleeting presence she had felt in the room with her when she’d touched the package.

The room was empty, though.

Blood was rushing in her ears, closely followed by the Argonian tribal drum her heart was doing a decent impression of. It took a moment before she realised she wasn’t breathing and she had to swallow before she could take a hesitant and shuddering breath. It didn’t even go all the way down into her lungs. Scanning the deep shadows in her office – she really wished she had switched on all the lights now – the Altmer reluctantly settled her gaze back on the bag, her mind made up.

Dropping the mask once again into the tote, she lifted it by the straps and shoved the whole thing into the safe. It looked a bit cramped but it fit. Barely. Probably because the bag wasn’t full to bursting. Eyrie almost slammed the safe door shut after that, locking it and then hurrying towards the office door and the sense of freedom outside of its walls. This time she didn’t just lock the door manually, she depressed the little button on the side of the light switch panel just beside the door in the hallway. The white plastic clicked loose and she swung it aside, revealing another keypad. Activating the secondary lock on the office door, Eyrie slid the concealing panel back into place. The relieved sigh that escaped her at the muted click wasn’t something she felt particularly happy about but the ease with which she now breathed was satisfying enough for her to ignore everything else. Not even Igni with her not inconsiderable skills could break those codes _or_ the locks.

With a glance down the hall at the still, thankfully, closed door to the guestroom, Eyrie smoothed out the line of her bathrobe that had ended up slightly askew from her near tumble before making her way to her own bedroom. She’d had enough for one night. It was time to sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

~ Late the next morning, 26th Rain’s Hand ~

It was bright.

It was too damned bright.

Igni groaned as she rolled over, trying to get further away from the light filtering in through window that she for some reason had forgotten to drawn both curtains and blinds for only to have her closed eyelids assailed by another wall of the unholy sunshine. The Imperial’s brows dipped, nose scrunching up in displeasure. There was only one window in her bedroom and the other end of the bed should face the door. Had she forgotten to close both the blinds and the door?

Cracking open one eye even fractionally almost blinded her but through the many rapid blinks that followed she could see the eventually focus on the creamy wallpaper that her mind reminded her would have the golden flock details even if she couldn’t see them yet; it was all one muddled mess. The brightness filtering in through ghostly white gauze of the decorative secondary curtains as much as the dark spots of plum and mahogany also confirmed it; this was Eyrie’s bedroom.

Igni screwed her eyes shut as a dull ache began to make itself known at the back of her head, radiating slowly up to the top of her skull and starting a dull ringing in her ears.

Right. She had crashed at Eyrie’s place because she’d run into a problem on the last reclamation job for the Treasury. _Actually,_ she corrected herself grumpily as she rolled over onto her back and covered her face with her hands, _make that one **big** problem._ A problem Eyrie had stuffed in the guestroom rather than in the trashcan like Igni had hoped. The Imperial groaned and rolled over again.

Why had Eyrie, the evil thing, not drawn the darker, heavier burgundy curtains that were meant to block out this gods accursed morning light and spare Igni the torture?

And why was she having a headache? She would like to blame said ‘problem’ but the truth of the matter greeted her from the nightstand when she peeked her eyes open again. Igni cursed the empty bottle of Alinorian dessert wine. They were always deceptively sweet-tasting without it being too much and the alcohol somehow never really shone through like it did in wines from other origins, making it far too easy to drink a lot of it. Then, as if to compound the issue, she hadn’t had much to eat or anything else to drink yesterday, had she? All she’d wanted was to get to Eyrie’s place before it got too late. Or before the car broke down permanently and she got stuck with _that technology vandal_ out on some deserted back road where they’d never find her body. Or his, for that matter.

Speaking of the mer…

Igni rolled back over, this time shielding her eyes as she went, and confirmed the bed was indeed cool on the other side. Had Eyrie changed her mind in the night and gone out in the wee hours and dug up a hole under the roses or something? Igni would only be so lucky. The more logical conclusion was that the mer had to be downstairs since no sound could be heard from the closed doors of the bathroom or walk-in closet.

As Igni crawled out of bed, she prayed she wasn’t about to find Eyrie serving their big ‘problem’ breakfast once she got downstairs. Then again, she stopped halfway to the door of the en suite and frowned at the white painted wood, that would require Miraak to actually have changed his mind since last night about food. Although he had to eat at some point! The human continued her lumbering path into the equally bright bathroom with its pale champagne, white and sandstone colour theme. Eyrie seriously needed to cut down on the brightness in her house, the Imperial groused as she moved over to the dark charcoal, polished granite countertop and turned on the cold water.

At the first splash of the icy spray to her face a shiver raced down her spine before doing a one-eighty and coming back up again. Igni shook her head sharply, blinking wide eyes at the mirror covering most of the wall behind the sink.

_Well, you’re not looking too dead,_ she noted as she poked at the mostly clear, somewhat puffy skin under one eye. _At least for someone who passed out in their clothes,_ she added with a frown and another silent oath aimed at Alinorian vintners. Despite having slept in said garments, they didn’t seem much worse for wear. Stripping off her top but leaving her bra and everything else from the waist down on, Igni did some light, very speedy refreshing with water and soap. Focusing on the simple task and nothing else made it easier to ignore the muted pounding in her head. Drying herself with one of the spare towels and dropping it in the laundry bin, she redressed while sending a mournful thought to her overnight toiletries bag which was still in her car – it hadn’t been as important to grab that yesterday – but appeased the part of herself that wished to appear a tiny bit more presentable with the fact that, depending on what they had to do today, she might get home soon.

Soon. Yeah right. Getting home meant they’d somehow sorted the issue of Miraak or what to do with him. Right? Despite wishing and hoping otherwise, Igni knew they couldn’t just leave him be – not because she felt sorry for the guy – and even less now than she’d originally realised because… magic. Magic was slowly making its way back into the world and all those old myths she had thought was complete bullshit might be true too!

Pushing her hands slowly up over her face and rubbing at her eyes before dragging them back down again, the human stared into the mirror. Magic… Having slept on Eyrie’s words hadn’t helped much. How in Oblivion did you sleep on a revelation like that anyway? To make any sense of that she would have to sleep for at least a week. Straight. That being said, it did help – a little! A teeny tiny bit! – that she’d seen it in action thanks to her troublesome passenger. In all honesty though, it was still really weird. Not so much scarily or frighteningly weird as just… weird, absurdly weird. A mortal was able to create a chill cold enough to freeze or a flame hot enough to burn with nothing but their mind? Well, their mind and… some insubstantial force or something.

It hurt her head. More than it was already hurting. She needed coffee, badly.

With a sigh, Igni left the sanctity of the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom… only to find a certain item missing. Okay, partially missing. Her wrecked phone, wallet and keys lay on the bedside table but the item they’d been contained within the previous day was missing. It wasn’t on any chair, not under the bed, not in the closet and not in the hall either she confirmed when she peeked her head outside again. What the fuck was going on?

Going back into the bedroom, Igni pocketed her essentials and exited the room. Casting a glance over at the closed door of the guestroom, she fidgeted with the unbound fall of her mid-back length, ruby auburn hair. She’d pulled it free of its half-murdered ponytail late last night but the hairband had remained around her wrist until now. Should she just ignore him? Eyrie was the one who insisted on playing hostess so, honestly, Igni didn’t have to be courteous enough and check if he was up and ready to head down or anything. Too much and he might start thinking it was a hotel, if he even knew what that was…

Screw it.

Straightening her back, she turned resolutely towards the other end of the wide corridor and the stairs down. She wasn’t his mother. He could come at his own time or be dragged out once they needed him, _if_ they needed him for anything; she concluded as she finger-combed her hair and pulled it into a low ponytail once more. Besides, something told her the headache she was nursing was only going to get worse from seeing him right now.

She hadn’t even gotten halfway down the stairs before she heard the first muted noises from the kitchen. It didn’t sound like two people but Igni knew Miraak could be silent as the bloody grave when he wanted to; their journey here had given her more than an idea. She was happy to discover that only one person was in residence in the kitchen though and with Eyrie’s curves, it’d be hard for anyone to assume her a man. Especially with the kind of ass the mer had. The Imperial might not be attracted to the other woman but she could appreciate Eyrie’s feminine appeal. Igni had a pretty great ass herself if she was any judge of it – a shapely ass and long, toned legs.

It was actually Eyrie who had pointed out long ago what some of Igni’s more outstanding features were and how to promote them to her fullest advantage. Since Igni did rock the jeans style, the mer had casually suggested in their later teenage years after they met, the human woman should wear jeans that were form-fitting or leather trousers to enhance those assets.

Her friend must have heard her approaching because Igni hadn’t gotten very far before Eyrie turned her attention to the human and smiled as brightly as the blasted sun shining in through the bank of windows. _Why_ was Eyrie so obsessed with the light? Was it an Altmeri thing? Because she was born in sunny, warm Alinor? Or maybe it was just a rich person’s house thing? Come to think of it, her parents’ vacation house back in the Imperial City had its own share of windows as far as she could remember and it was over a decade since she was last there…

“Slept well?” the mer chimed cheerfully with a friendly grin as the human took a seat in one of the bar stools. Igni frowned at her and considered shielding her eyes from the imaginary glare that Eyrie’s awfully bright attitude was giving off. She didn’t though. She was a good friend.

“Yeah, surprisingly,” Igni confessed as she slid up to the breakfast isle in the middle of the kitchen, foregoing the smaller dining table off to the side by the wall that faced the front of the house and had the sun bathing it in light. The kitchen was situated so that it received morning and afternoon sun while the garden in the back caught the afternoon and evening rays in a very pleasant way.

“Great! We need you on your feet today after all,” the mer stated, still cheerful as ever as she opened a cabinet and withdrew a canister of some sort.

“Right,” Igni muttered doubtfully, her brows dipping as she studied Eyrie suspiciously. The mer was _extremely_ cheerful considering everything that happened last night. It reminded her of some of her colleagues at the Treasury… one man in particular. But at least he made up for being a pain in her backside... Most of the time. When she could drag him out from behind his desk. _Tcha_ , Igni thought, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and continuing to glower at Eyrie's back. Dragging the big mixed-blood anywhere was easier said than done. But it was nothing if not entertaining to try, so there was that, the Imperial mentally amended. And, to be honest, he was always there when she really needed him to get her ass out of trouble…

But for now, there was another person that deserved her frowns more. Igni squinted harder at her friend. “And what are we doing today?” she asked reluctantly, wishing she couldn’t guess with one hundred percent accuracy what was coming.

“Dealing with the pink mammoth in the room. Or dragon. Whatever it is you humans say.” Eyrie added a quick, almost careless wave of a single hand at the end as if to say today’s topic wasn’t as important or onerous as it, or _he_ , actually was. That reminded her though…

“Speaking of, Eyrie, have you seen my bag?” Igni was beginning to fear that frown was going to take up permanent residence on her brow. If it did, she was going to start charging it rent so she could buy expensive creams later in life to deal with the wrinkles she was sure to get from it. Jokes aside, she needed that bag. Or, more precisely, what it contained. Karliah expected results; failure was not an option.

Eyrie had stopped preparing the scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and a light side salad and now turned fully towards her friend. If Igni wasn’t mistaken, those crystalline blue eyes of the mer’s were a tad too calm and nonchalant to not know where it was. “The tote from yesterday?”

“Yes.” The staring contest began.

“The one you brought in from the car?” Was asked lightly as the taller woman leaned a hip against the counter and plucked a cooked piece of bacon off the plate at her elbow. Finely-shaped red brows arched as she took a bite and chewed slowly, gaze meeting the other’s unwaveringly.

“Yes,” Igni said succinctly, sitting up straighter in her seat. The annoyance was beginning to slip into her own tone now. Igni’s frown deepened at the very unnecessary questions delivered in a calm and far too carefree manner as Eyrie walked over to the coffee bean grinder a few paces down from where more bacon sizzled in the frying pan. And then she pressed the button.

The most _ungodly_ sound roared to life much louder than any kitchen appliance had the right to give off, tearing a string of very colourful words from Igni’s lips as her headache tripled in strength despite how she tried to drown out the sound by plugging her ears.

“EYRIE!”

At the loud keening heart-cry from Igni that actually overpowered the grinder, Eyrie released the button and the noise came to a quick stop. Igni, however, looked as if the noise was still ongoing in her head though. Eyrie almost, _almost_ felt sorry for her friend but then reminded herself that it was self-inflicted and she hadn’t intended for the human to drink most of the wine alone yesterday. It had been a choice. Also… she’d spent an hour last night trying to fall asleep while her brain said it was _POSITIVE_ it could sense the evil bag all the way through the two walls. The mer’d had a bit of a fitful rest but makeup did wonders to hide that. So did coffee, by the way. Hence the grinder.

Eyrie smiled brightly at her friend. “Yes?” The word was almost purred lightly.

Igni glared back balefully, both at the earlier the sound of the grinder and at Eyrie’s nonchalance, and continued to do so for another few seconds before she slowly lowered her hands. “There’s no need to be a bitch,” she pouted unhappily, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. The mer’s full, rosy lips twitched amusedly.

“I thought you looked as though you could use some coffee,” she offered graciously with a gentle smile, neither of which alleviated Igni’s glare.

“And you are avoiding answering my question,” the Imperial pointed out.

“Hmm,” the mer hummed, turning her back on the human woman and pressing down on the button again. She ignored Igni’s groaning behind her. She would thank Eyrie after having a full belly and a cup or two of the extra strong Hammerfellan brew. She considered dropping a tot or so of brandy into Igni’s cup; hair of the dog and all that.

The mer was just about to comment on some of her friend’s more colourful phrasing when the appliance under her fingertips stopped working. The motor whirred, sputtered and just stopped. Eyrie blinked and pressed the button again.

Nothing happened.

That was when she felt it, that fissure of power that coursed down her spine like the cold tingle of early spring rain. Turning towards the entranceway to the kitchen, Eyrie saw her other ‘guest’ standing – looming, more like – there, black eyes fastened onto her now defunct coffee-grinder.

“Good morning,” the mer filled the silence that had settled on the room, noting that Igni looked like she was ready to either get up and leave or grab one of the sharp and pointy objects and do something that the mer would have to cover up. “I’d offer you something…” Eyrie continued with a small wave at her grinder. “But it seems…”

The words died as the appliance started up again without her having touched it. Well then…

Drawing in a sharp breath, Eyrie switched the grinder off again before she turned away from it and back to the bacon in the frying pan. It was whilst occupied with transferring the crisp pieces to a plate, that she suddenly heard a noise that sounded terribly much like a distressed bird or something akin to it. Turning back around, she found the source to be Igni, the end of a whimper dying on her lips. And why? Apparently Miraak had moved. The big Nord was holding her coffee grinder and turning it over and around in his hands, almost gingerly, like he expected it to explode. It was an absurdly amusing thought. Why? Because of the noise it’d made earlier? If he now was as old as they guessed him to be then… that was fair enough. However, Igni’s almost horrified looks made it clear the human wasn’t going to live through the day without at least _one_ cup of coffee this morning. Eyrie decided to take pity on both her friend and her kitchen appliance. There were other risks to consider aside from Igni’s fraying nerves though.

“Please keep a hand on the lid so that the coffee doesn’t spill out,” she asked politely while doing her best to keep her voice calm. If that thing burst into flames… Well, she did have a small fire extinguisher under her sink but she wasn’t sure what she would hose first: him or the grinder.

He set it down as carefully as he’d been handling it, turning those odd black eyes onto Igni. If Eyrie wasn’t mistaken, the flesh at their corners seemed to relax slightly, as if he sensed the Imperial was not feeling the best this morning. His words confirmed her suspicions.

“Good morning, Ignatia.” He gave a nod towards the mer. “Paaz vu, insehofkah.”

“Speak the common tongue, if you don’t mind,” Igni groused, glowering now at Miraak rather than the mer who thought the human had recovered remarkably fast. “Some of us don’t understand whatever the fuck you were just speaking.”

“Igni!” Eyrie hissed at the other woman, resisting the urge to clobber her over the head. That he’d spoken was a minor miracle; that he’d done so civilly was an even bigger one. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was almost a different person than the one she had met the night before. The man before her now seemed a trifle more relaxed, less confrontational. That would work in their favour… if Ignatia and her hangover didn’t turn it sideways.

“Paaz vu, pella rille,” the mer replied back to him, doing her best to imitate the language he’d used before once again applying the polite reference to his station as a guest in Altmeris. The former was done if only to poke at her friend in hopes of getting Igni to try a little patience. “Please, take a seat if you like. Breakfast will be done shortly.”

She expected him to decline the offer, possibly even head back upstairs but surprisingly, he sat down at the isle counter, placing a seat between himself and Igni. It crossed Eyrie’s mind to make a comment about that but thought better of it. At least he was being more cooperative than he’d been last night. Either he had realized he was in over his head in this world or… he had something else up his sleeve.

Thinking of sleeves, Eyrie darted a glance at his robes as she fixed two plates with the bacon, eggs, toast and a salad made of greens, baby plum tomatoes and diced cucumber before placing each before the pair along with a set of utensils. If Miraak could act normally, civilly at the very least, then he _could_ blend in but he would need clothes that wouldn’t draw attention to him. Not that he wouldn’t know where or how get any to begin with, she assumed. Very few human men stood to his height or had that regal bearing. Good for him then that Eyrie was currently dating another Altmer and had gone shopping with the man more than once. True, Ondolemar wasn’t nearly as broad of build as the Nord sitting at her counter and poking at his plate but he was of a similar structure to another Nord of her… acquaintance. Ok, so, he was more than a mere ‘acquaintance’. On occasion. Frequently. Or had been.

That wasn’t the point! What was the point was that Eyrie knew where to get clothes that would fit the bloody man and help him to pass for a regular person. _Sort of regular anyway,_ she amended as she cast a wary glance at his black-on-black eyes. They could figure something out, she was sure. But first were the clothes…

Eyrie regarded the Nord’s broad shoulders. At least they looked about as broad as her… friend’s. Bishop’s had been sturdy, with hard muscles flowing down over his back. He had a really nice back, especially in the early morning light as the sun shone in through the windows, filtered by the trees surrounding the ranger lodge, leaving a nature-created lattice of light to play upon sleep warmed, dusky skin.

Shaking her head to diffuse the image of a naked copper-haired certain someone sprawled out in bed – his or hers – Eyrie moved over to the coffee machine that stood beside the grinder. It had been a good view though, she had to silently confess as she transferred the freshly ground beans into the single cup, narrow spout dripper. Opening the cupboard in front of her, she selected three cups, imagining she could hear his voice making some rather intimate suggestions in her ear, before realising what she was actually hearing was Igni complaining… again.

“Just try it. It’s not going to bite you. It’s already dead.”

Eyrie cast a half-amused, half-irritated glance over her shoulder to find Miraak regarding the Imperial with a single brow raised. He looked like he was mulling over a comment but rather than speaking, he reached one big hand over towards Igni’s plate and swiped a piece of her bacon. Not wanting any part of whatever the hells that had been, Eyrie turned her attention back to fixing the coffee while ignoring Igni’s indignant sputtering.

She and the Imperial would need some of it, at least, to deal with Mr. Suspicious Pants. To be fair, it would be interesting to see if he liked it or even dared try it due to the pungent, faintly bitter smell. If he did though, maybe it would make him more agreeable as well. She was pretty sure they didn’t have caffeine back in… whenever he originally came from.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

~ Some hours later ~

Eyrie stood outside the dressing room where Miraak currently was while Ignatia sprawled inelegantly in one of the stores cushioned seats. Breakfast hadn’t gone as bad as it could have.  He hadn’t even tried the coffee but at least he’d smelled it, all the while handing it a very suspicious look, but he was still fairly reasonable despite his non-caffeinated state. It had even been rather easy to convince the big Nord he would need clothes more in line with the times. Eyrie had expected a fight but he’d merely nodded and acquiesced, concurring with her that he thought that an excellent idea. That had made both women blink.

Not wanting to question Miraak’s sudden change of attitude or, worse, have him decide otherwise, Eyrie had ushered them all out to her car and driven them to Radiance. City lore had it that the shop had been a store in by-gone ages past that had catered to the wealthy and even royalty. It seemed somehow fitting that they end up here.

“I am not fond of the texture of this fabric, insehofkah,” the man’s deep voice rumbled quietly from behind the closed door.

“There’s nothing wrong with jeans! Just get your butt out here so we can leave already,” Igni all but shouted, getting a glare from Eyrie.

“I told you he wouldn’t like them,” the mer told her, sotto voce. She suspected Igni had insisted on them just to irritate Miraak in retaliation for him destroying her tech but still. He _was_ being cooperative… for now. No need to push their luck and have it run out entirely.

“Try these instead,” Eyrie said, holding a pair of cotton and silk blend black slacks and a simple wrap-style shirt that the young clerk at the counter said was all the rage now over the top of the changing room door. At least it didn’t have buttons, had been her initial thought. “I believe they might be more to your liking.” She almost added on how she was wearing something similar but didn’t.

Her dress slacks fell neat and crisp from her hip down to where her three inch black peep-toe pumps peeked out from beneath the tailored white fabric while the softer weave of her pale rose silk round-necked blouse with the decorative scarf tied in a bow that fell down her bosom, giving her endowments a bit of concealment while still tastefully drawing the eye.

Igni, in sharp contrast, was dressed in her rather ragged jeans, green top and leather jacket and boots from the other day. It wasn’t surprising though. The human probably hadn’t expected to be away from home for this long. Although where the mer’s hair was perfectly coifed, pulled up into an artistic twist with tendrils left to frame her face and fall down the back of her neck, the Imperial refused to go any extra mile – or even inch – and still had her hair in her usual ponytail. Eyrie had tried in the past to give the younger woman a bit of refinement but those attempts had failed. Evidently. Eyrie chalked it up to being part of Ignatia’s own certain charm. They would go with that. At least that’s what Eyrie always told herself. Although, given how much Igni disliked her family with their heavy-handed manner of trying to control her, dressing in any manner close to what they would consider ‘appropriate’ was anathema to the Imperial so Eyrie would cut her some slack… a tiny bit. Sometimes. On occasion. Here she made a mental note to never introduce Igni to another little pale-haired animal in her menagerie; that was just asking for mayhem the mer didn’t even want to contemplate.

Eyrie didn’t have to wait long before she felt the fabric of the garments slip through her fingers as, she assumed, Miraak took them from her. Taking a step back from the changing room, Eyrie waited. It was almost a bit unnerving. She hoped she’d explained the logistics of zippers sufficiently for him to grasp the concept of how they worked. If not… Well, that was something Igni could take care of. He had fallen on her head, after all.

Several minutes later and after much rustling from behind the door, it finally opened to reveal the man himself. Eyrie took a half step back, blinking. Okay, so modern clothing did happen to suit him rather nicely. The shirt was closed, tied at the waist but still left a goodly expanse of his chest bare. The way the fabric draped from his broad shoulders only served to accentuate their breadth. The slacks, though loose fitting, hinted at the shape of the muscular legs beneath them at slightest movement. Shit, she’d forgotten underwear! Not that she thought he’d wear them now that she thought about it, but beyond that… This was good. This was _really_ good. Almost too good but it would have to do. Ahem.

Clearing her throat lightly, feeling a blush creeping up into her cheeks, Eyrie met Miraak’s odd swirling black eyes, thankful the shirt came down far enough to obscure that part of his body. Igni, on the other hand, if Eyrie didn’t miss her guess, was staring, if the sharp intake of breath behind her and low whistle of appreciation was any indication.

“You look almost human.”

“I shall take that as a compliment coming from you,” Miraak shot right back, making both women blink in surprise as he adjusted the sleeves.

“Here,” Igni said, rising from her seat and approaching him. She folded the fabric back on his forearms until both sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. “Much better.”

Eyrie would have laughed at the rather uncertain look Miraak cast her direction but thought better of it. “Igni, let him wear it how he wants.”

“Fiiine, fuss-pot,” the Imperial drawled, walking over to the chair and flouncing back into it. “Make him all uptight and stiff. See if I care.”

Eyrie stared at the other woman, one brow arched sharply, until Igni realised what she’d said and began to turn as red as her hair. “You know what I meant!”

“I’m sure I do,” the mer purred, receiving another of the other woman’s glares for her tone before turning back to the tall Nord whose sleeves were now back into their original position, studying him for a second. “Well,” she dropped her voice back into a slightly more serious note, “I think that should do it for the express moment. We can work on expanding it later if you wish. I’m sure there are some garments that’ll suit your tastes.” She finished with a nod. All that was left now was to find a pair of shoes large enough that wouldn’t look too out of place. While his old boots were serviceable, they didn’t really… suit the rest of his outfit by now.

Thankfully, she’d already told the clerk the “truth” of the matter that she of course hadn’t just pulled out of her own sleeve as they drove to the store. Their poor friend here was an historical reenactor who’d been horribly pranked by his friends. You see, they dropped him off without his normal clothes and rather than put him on the train back to Riften looking like something out of a museum, here they were. It was just too cruel to do that to him, as the young Argonian surely understood. They were ladies, after all, and could certainly give assistance to their friend here. So, if it wasn’t too much trouble, Eyrie wanted to pay for the clothes as Miraak wore them.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken many smiles to get the man behind the counter to agree. Eyrie seldom needed to do something so juvenile as to flash her cleavage; she had her brains and her other looks that would more than suffice. Affect the right type of voice and most anything male looked at a woman with the wish to aid them in any way they could. They were simple creatures that way. Most of them, anyway.

Others…

Eyrie’s gaze drifted to the other male, the one now dressed in black and white that stood with that silent stoicism she was fast becoming familiar with. She turned, wanting to say something to Igni but the other woman had disappeared on her. Great, wonderful. What was she up to now? And did Eyrie really need to put a leash on her friend? Drawing in a breath to tamp down her rising irritation, she instead settled for giving the Argonian clerk the specifics for Miraak’s footwear; something he could just slip into, no buckles or laces, no fuss. The man nodded and drifted off after a quick glance at the big Nord’s feet to gauge what size he would need.

The mer was just about to tell Miraak to stay where he was to go find Igni when she reappeared. Looking all too pleased with herself at that. Eyrie narrowed suspicious eyes on the human woman as she perched a pair of opaque, designer wrap-around sunglasses on Miraak’s face. She might not want to admit it but this was a moment of genius. The all black, eerie eyes had been a problem Eyrie had been trying to figure out since they’d left the house.

Turning about, Igni faced the mer with a smarmy grin. “Now we don’t need to give others the same lie as the one you gave that guy before. He might fall for Miraak’s eyes being contacts once but a second time? Not to mention everyone else out there.” The Imperial folded her arms beneath her bosom as her self-satisfied grin grew. “Not bloody likely.”

Eyrie simply shook her head at her friend’s all-too-content expression and refrained from doing more. The man they were discussing looked very odd in the modern shades despite how she saw glasses like these thousands of times a year. Maybe it was something in the way he held himself that made the wrap-around shirt, dress slacks and shade look just a touch too casual. They couldn’t nit-pick right now though.

“True,” Eyrie replied as she continued to study Miraak, a small part of her lamenting how with those sunglasses in place, they lost the one tiny but most clear indicator of his thoughts and mood. “That’ll work for now.” _Or however long this now lasts._ And wasn’t that a sobering thought? What was the deal with his eyes anyway? Was it something due to his innate magic or where he drew it from? The higher concentration of magicka within him? She really wanted, _needed_ to know because… she wanted to know if she ran the risk of ending up the same. It was something to try and ask him a bit later, gauge the situation for the best moment to pop what felt like a rather intimate question.

The clerk saved the moment from dragging on and becoming any more uncomfortable than it already was by his return. After a couple of tries, with Igni’s goading, Miraak settled on a pair of black leather loafers that he said would suffice. That seemed to be his pet phrase when he was just attempting to placate them but Eyrie wasn’t going to call him on it. The shoes were on his feet, not hers, so if they were too small or too big – not likely! – and ended up giving him blisters, it was his own fault, not hers. On the overall though, Eyrie was glad to be done at such a public venue as this. She was more than ready to leave and get her two ‘children’ somewhere else where she could dump them and know they wouldn’t run off while she attended to business.

Taking the young clerk aside, she asked him to pick out several more shirts of the same style and size, as well as another two pairs of the slacks and a package of socks. He gave her a blank stare but after another smile and a promise of a commendation to his superior for his most excellent service, the Argonian was off to see to her request. Sometimes being the daughter of a politician came in handy; now was one of those times.

A credit card helped as well.

Packages in hand, Eyrie bustled her two ‘children’ out of the store and packed them into her white, semi-sports car. She couldn’t bring Miraak back to her home, not until she had more answers about the ticking time-bomb – for so she thought of it as – that was lurking in her safe. As appealing as the magicka was that clung to both him and whatever-it-was, there was something very unsettling about it. It both called to her and made her skin crawl. Being close to Miraak was… invigorating and disquieting, not enough of either sensation to overrule the other. It was… confusing to say the least.

“So where to now?” Igni asked from beside her as they stopped at a red light.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” the mer said cheerily. “We’ll be there shortly.”

Whether Igni liked it or not. And the Imperial was _not_ going to like it. _Well, tough cookies,_ Eyrie thought. The problem had literally landed on her so Igni could deal with him, but also… if Eyrie was perfectly honest – which she wouldn’t be to Igni’s freckled face about this subject – she wasn’t sure she dared have Miraak that close twenty-four seven. Especially not with the mask and other content of the tote still in her house. She suppressed a shiver and focused on the road ahead instead, emptying her mind.

After twenty minutes of driving in more or less tense silence, Eyrie pulled up in front of the building where Igni had her flat on the outskirts of Solitude, right around Katla’s Farm suburb.

“Oh like Oblivion!” the Imperial snarled, glaring.

“Whyever not?” Eyrie asked calmly with just a hint of false sweetness in her voice that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, quite mask, red brows arched ever so gently.

Igni pressed her lips together, continuing to glare bloody murder at her. Finally, after several heartbeats had passed, she cracked them open to emit a single word.

“Because.”

Eyrie’s brows rose fractionally higher even as she kept the rest of her features still. “Because…?”

“No.”

“Yes,” the mer insisted with a smooth purr before her voice dropped into a clearer, no-nonsense quality. “Now get out of my pussy.”

Igni snapped her mouth shut, shoved open her door with more force than was strictly necessary and slammed it shut.

“Don’t forget to take your new toy with you!” floated cheerily out of the driver side window.

As if she could. He was already out of the car and in the process of retrieving the parcels that contained his new modern clothing. Ignatia resisted the urge to kick him square in his new britches. But it was hard.

Really damned hard since she caught sight of the grin her ‘friend’ was giving her. It seemed to imply Igni’s eyes were doing something more than contemplating what would cause the most harm. As if!

“Oh! Igni!” She almost refused to answer Eyrie but on the miniscule off chance that the mer had changed her mind or decided to call out her own prank, the Imperial did. And then she cursed herself because all Eyrie did was stretch a hand out through the passenger seat window with a phone in it. “A temporary replacement until we can look at your poor little friend that had the unfortunate accident. I wouldn’t want you to be without a lifeline, now would I?” When Igni opened her mouth to argue the matter, Eyrie swiftly continued – almost as if she _knew_ what Igni had been about to say. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you high and dry?” Igni was going to find a way to wipe that evil grin right off the Altmer’s face one of these day. One fiiine day.

In the near future.

In the meantime she just snatched the phone from the other woman’s hand. Huffing in irritation as Eyrie swung away from the curb, Igni turned to glare at her new flatmate, shoving the phone into a pocket of her jacket. For his part, Miraak didn’t say a word, just returned her look. She assumed he did anyway but there was no telling with the sunglasses still on his face.

“I hope you’re house-broken,” she muttered as she dug around in the other pocket for her keys.

This was either going to go horribly, horribly wrong or…

Well, there was no “ _or_ ”. This was the worst idea Eyrie had ever had. Igni was convinced of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul:  
> Paaz vu, insehofkah - Good morning, host/master of the house  
> Paaz vu, pella rille - GOod morning, honoured guest (Dovahzul, Altmeris)  
> Insehofkah - Host/master of the house
> 
> As always, bigger versions of any chapter art (or other illustrations related to MSR) can be found on Deviant Art:  
> jinsei.deviantart.com  
> kallalightheart.deviantart.com  
> Another mischief maker who gives us a hand at times:  
> jnksgrl.deviantart.com


	6. Because momma knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another player appears on the scene - the Aldmeri Dominion Ambassador herself - but does she have any hidden agendas? Pieces on the invisible chess board are being moved but who will the game benefit in the end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the wait, work and other things cropped up for us. We're going to try for an update every 1-1.5 months at least.

 

After having dropped off Igni and her new ‘acquisition’ at the Imperial’s flat, Eyrie headed back towards Solitude proper. She kept glancing down at her own cell phone in its cradle in the centre console before her eyes darted back to the road again. Once. Twice. After a half a dozen other times, she decided she really should call Karliah and ask that Dunmer some pertinent questions. What she _really_ should do though was call her mother for advice.

Or at the very least inform Auri’ada of these recent developments.

The sunlight hitting her windscreen, however, was turning from lemon to a rather dusty ochre, informing her that late spring’s long twilight was encroaching. It would last perhaps two to three hours this time of year and with the colours beginning to ripple across the sky, this particular dusk was going to be gloriously beautiful.

The mer let her breath out on a long, soft sigh. There was a time, when she had been younger, when these longer spring evenings hadn’t bothered her. Now she felt the weight of their solitude settle over her slender shoulders like a light shawl, cool as the kiss of the night alone that would follow.

At times like this, she would have gotten onto the highway, driven up to the higher altitudes and into the mountains. Over to a certain ranger’s cabin in the woods. Or she would have, half a year ago, give or take a few months. While she knew Kalla and Bishop wouldn’t mind her unexpected company, and while she adored those two particular beasties in her own personal menagerie, it just wasn’t the same.

She could call Ondolemar and see if he was willing to go out with her for the evening but that thought didn’t appeal to her quite as much as it should have either. Especially since she and the other Altmer had been dating for several months. Oh, Ondolemar was a gentleman but he just didn’t make her heart race. He was stolid, dependable and just so… Eyrie shook her head at the unfair but, a small part of her whispered, painfully accurate judgement of ‘boring’. He was a safe bet and, as her mother had said, the relationship was something to grow into. Eyrie had promised her she would try and give Ondolemar the benefit of the doubt and she was. She really was trying; perhaps not as hard as she should but… It was just taking time but time had never really been an issue for the mer races. In fact, courtship, even among the younger generation, took a bit longer than it did for their human equivalents. Or so it should anyway, according to proper Altmerya custom.

Everything was fine. It just took a little time. What was the rush anyway?

…It didn’t feel like she was rushing though, a tiny but miserable voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Maybe she’d just spent too much time surrounded by humans? Humans often seemed to rush according to many of the meri. She knew some of her mother’s colleagues would certainly agree, in their eyes, how unevenly she divvied up her time between those of her own race and those who were not. They were just extremely careful to never voice those sentiments within Auri’ada’s hearing. Gods, Ancestors, Divines, whatever you believed in, have mercy and forbid if any such words ever reached that woman’s ears! Most especially if they even hinted at maligning her daughter. That was something that particular Dunmer did not, on any level, tolerate from anyone.

Eyrie sighed again, this one a deep, prolonged exhalation of mingled tiredness and frustration at the entire situation – situations, really. And that brought her back to her mother once more. If she wasn’t spending the evening with Ondolemar or going to go harass Karliah, she really ought to call her. Pulling her sporty Sabrecat X10 off to the side of the road and turning on her hazard lights, she picked up her cell from its cradle, flicked open the contacts screen and scrolled through them until she found her mother’s. Running a fingertip across the dial button to start the call, Eyrie tapped another that would port it to the small, wireless headset she dug out of the centre console. Perching it behind one of her elegantly tapered ears, she let it ring until Auri’ada answered.

Thankfully, it didn’t have to sound more than half a dozen times.

“What is it, a fe-raena? Is everything all right?” Her mother’s voice rolled over her, all comforting concern. The sound of it never failed to calm her or put a smile on her face.

Eyrie frowned at the windscreen for a second, considering her words, before answering. “Everything is fine, mother. I’ve got some,” she paused momentarily, not sure about how to proceed but went on with, “interesting news.” _Wasn’t that an understatement?_ she thought, chewing delicately at her bottom lip.

“Nothing too serious, I hope?” Her mother’s voice was still calm, just a touch more serious, a hint of her work persona slipping through. Eyrie could almost envision the shorter, darker mer sitting up a little straighter, shoulders squaring just a touch even if she’d changed for the evening and was lounging about in a silk dressing gown. Few people could look intimidating in a half-dressed state, even less so in nightclothes, but Auri’ada managed it. She always managed to look it, no matter her state of dress or undress. Come to think of it, though the Altmer had no solid proof, she was willing to lay a sizeable wager that her mother could even look regal and intimidating while in the nude. It was a skill Eyrie hoped to acquire and master one day for herself.

“Not serious per se, no, just, ah… different?” She cringed a bit at the questioning tone in her own voice, glad that her mother couldn’t see the not-quite reflexive movement.

Her resourceful mother; ever polite, ever artful, a storm of ash and thunder or the wee hours on the most serene of nights depending on what was needed. Eyrie had never felt unsafe when she’d spoken to her before yet now she was a trifle hesitant. Sure sign that this was not a typical situation. All the more reason to not make up some vague excuse on the spot but to rather continue, no matter how difficult this conversation was going to end up being.

“A fe-raena, speak to me if the moment allows it.” Auri’ada’s voice hadn’t changed but the continued use of her daughter’s nickname – a term of endearment meaning “my pride and joy” in Altmeris – told Eyrie all she needed to know. Her mother was being patient and was willing to wait for her to say what she had to say, even if the semblance the older woman continued to wrap around herself was more political than familial. The wording also told Eyrie one more thing; if she was compromised, Auri’ada had caught it. The Dunmer never left anything to chance even if the caution could be misconstrued as paranoia.

“I’m in no rush. Dinner will wait,” Eyrie said with a small but warm smile at the concern her mother showed. It was around the time that she was normally having her evening meal, something the Dunmer was well aware of. Which hinted that while Eyrie herself might be perfectly fine, perhaps all things considered there was something on her proverbial plate that she needed assistance with. A sort of code between mother and daughter, to keep up the facade of speaking normally while actually saying more than what was truly spoken.

Auri’ada lived and breathed her work, her duties, but she still made time for her only child regardless of what came her way. The Dunmer had always aimed to balance the life of her small family with her work but she’d never failed to impress the importance of her position and responsibilities upon her adopted daughter. Few could do what Auri’ada did for Queen and country, her mother had told her. It was why Eyrie tried to be as self-sufficient as possible. She didn’t wish nor need to worry her mother unnecessarily. Although you could argue that what she was about to tell the Dunmer would be… anything _but_ reassuring.

“However,” she continued carefully, eyes still on the road, “if you’re not busy, I think this is a matter best discussed in person.”

While she didn’t relish the thought of revealing the events of the last twenty-four hours, they most certainly were not matters to discuss over the phone. Besides which, being able to see Auri’ada’s expression as she spoke would serve to give Eyrie a better indication than the tone – or lack thereof – of her mother’s voice what the other woman was thinking. If she were lucky and her mother didn’t put on her “game face”, anyway.

The woman could give Bishop a run for his money when it came to a poker face. Or, come to think of it, even the other big Nord she’d left with Igni.

Which brought her right back around to the main reason she had called Auri’ada in the first place. Or one of them.

“Of course, a fe-raena,” Auri’ada replied smoothly without missing a beat. “How soon shall I expect you?”

Eyrie chewed on her bottom lip again – bad anxious habit that it was – glancing down at the phone in its cradle before returning her eyes to the traffic before her. Her mother was currently in her suite at the Thalmor Embassy and while she knew her mother was savvy enough to have her rooms swept regularly for bugs, this was one of those instances where absolute privacy was necessary. Not that the resurgence of magic was news among the Thalmor – well, within the higher ranks, at least – but there were a few other factors involved this time, factors and persons. She’d like to avoid putting Igni under any scrutiny if she could.

“I was actually wondering if it would be too much trouble for you to come to my place instead.” Code again, that this was an off-the-record affair yet still vital that her mother knew about it.

A heartbeat of silence. Then another. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

She’d understood. This was to be kept as far and quiet from the rest of the Thalmor as could possibly be done. Hence the privacy of her own personal residence. And, in a convoluted way, it involved Eyrie so _if_ it came to their attention, it would most assuredly implicate not just _her_ but possibly who she was protecting. The Altmer had never asked just how much of Auri’ada’s business with the Wolfqueen’s Treasury, either official or along more unofficial lines, the rest of her Thalmor compatriots knew about.

Eyrie flicked a glance at the clock beaming back at her from the touchscreen on the dash; thirty minutes, give or take. That was long enough to stop for pick-up and a chance to change into something more comfortable once home before her mother’s arrival. Nodding once, even if the other mer couldn’t see it, she was now set on her course of action. “I’ll see you then.”

The line clicked closed and Eyrie removed the headset, tossing it onto the empty seat next to her. Well, one hurdle leapt. Just how many others were left, that was up for debate. She’d swing by the restaurant that carried a few dishes native to Alinor. Despite being born in Morrowind, Auri’ada had spent most of her life within Dominion lands and taken a liking to their cuisine and alcohol, the Altmerya variety in particular. Besides, sometimes having a full stomach while discussing uneasy matters made things a bit easier. Not always but here’s to hoping it would at the very least help smooth the bumpy road ahead a bit.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Auri’ada was punctual. _Another mark in her favour_ , Eyrie thought at the sound of a well-maintained car’s engine cutting off just outside her bedroom window as she slipped on a pair of soft-soled, black slippers with a more practical low inch kitten heel, foregoing her indoors professional business pumps with their three-inch heels. It might be spring and the days were steadily growing warmer but she hadn’t been born or raised in nor grown sufficiently accustomed to Skyrim’s cooler climes to forgo some type of warming footwear. Not to mention the weather was terribly temperamental during Rain’s Hand. Retrieving a lightweight cardigan of knit maroon cashmere from her closet, she headed back downstairs to unpack the take-out she’d brought home.

She’d just disposed of the containers when the doorbell chimed, further announcing the arrival of her mother. Leaving the dishes on the casual dining table in the kitchen – there was no reason to use the actual dining room with only the two of them attending – Eyrie went to let her mother in.

Auri’ada smiled up at her as soon as the door swung open. “A fe-raena,” she greeted, leaning up far enough to place a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, the Altmer leaning down a bit to facilitate the action. The other mer’s elegant suede pumps had two inches on her own one inch heels, but her adoptive mother was only five foot seven tall while Eyrie herself stood at six feet and two inches tall; just under the average height for an Altmer female but still taller than your typical Dunmer, male _or_ female.

Taking a step back after having returned the kiss with one of her own, Auri’ada held out a bottle of Sparkling Muscat wine as Eyrie moved further out of the way so she could enter. The warm greeting wasn’t just a polite or idle exchange either. There had been a slight pause during, her mother’s lips lingering on her cheek for just a prolonged moment. One hand would usually brush gently through her daughter’s hair when they weren’t occupied like they happened to be tonight. They were as close as – generally more so than the norm – a parent with its own natural born offspring. It spoke volumes of the close, loving bond between the two very different meri.  

Eyrie accepted the silvery, sleek necked and narrow bodied bottle with a quick flash of a grin. A glance at the verdant and alabaster label as the flask exchanged hands reaffirmed what her first impression had been; it was from the Nibenay Valley. That region had been transformed with the skilful and genius use of irrigation canals along the Larsius River before emptying into Niben Bay. The vineyard, called Anutwyll Breweries after the ancient Ayleid ruins not far from the city of Bravil, produced this particular sparkling wine that was a lovely pale pink-red in colour, marking it as a rosé. The colour was deceptive though; the wine itself was stronger in flavour than most other champagnes but not quite as much of a punch to the palate as, say, a fine heady, full-bodied red.

Apart from excellent wines and champagne, they also made a rare but exceptional brandy that was exported to certain prestigious benefactors abroad. Like the Thalmor and Alinor, for instance. Her mother had always had a partiality for the mellow, smooth, fruit-tasting brandies made in Alinor and the brandy that Anutwyll produced was on par. That’s not to say she didn’t enjoy the distillations that came out of Cyrodiil, Hammerfell, Morrowind and Elsweyr, or the wines of High Rock, on rare occasions. It was just a personal preference, to put it more politely. If Eyrie’d lived as long as and in the locations the Dunmer had, she’d become more than a bit of a connoisseur herself eventually.

After all, if you were going to drink, wouldn’t you prefer to partake of the good stuff rather than what you could call “common swill”? That’s one of the things her mother had impressed upon her and as likely a reason as any that Eyrie had never – or close to never – been one of those hard-partying college students that spent more nights than not passed out in other people’s lawns.

At least until she had met a certain someone who had turned her carefully planned life upside down for a few all-too-brief but wonderful, magical, insanely _fun yet frustrating_ months.

“Thank you for coming.” She gave her mother a faint smile in place of the earlier grin, putting the brakes on with force at the start of that particular trek down memory lane. Now was neither the time nor place for such an excursion. “I know how difficult it can be for you to get away…” It wasn’t _impossible_ for them to meet, they were both just very, very busy much of the time now so moments like this, where they could dispense with formalities and plots and intrigues and watch every word they spoke, were rare but to be cherished.

Auri’ada fluttered the fingers of her empty hand in a dismissive gesture that wasn’t meant to be rude, at least putting up the front if nothing else that she hadn’t divined Eyrie’s mind. She slipped off her lightweight but stylish knee-length midnight blue coat with its golden buttons and accents – the colours of the Thalmor – with the same lack of social inference. The doffing of the coat and wave were necessities, one the same as the other. Under the coat, however the Dunmer was dressed in a casual yet professional attire of the same colours, perfectly impeccable. The fitted suit jacket and a pencil skirt that reached to just below her knees were a dark navy, the silk blouse beneath a deep saffron yellow, her pumps the same colour of navy with a delicate golden-toned buckle for the straps about her ankles. Dark red hair almost the same shade as garnet was parted down the middle, tastefully pulled back and up into a twist secured with golden combs, their swirling pattern studded with small sapphires.  

“Nothing would keep me away when you really need me, Eyrenni,” she told her daughter in all seriousness. “You know that.”

True. Her mother had always been there for her, even with her career and position within the Aldmeri Dominion. Eyrie shut and locked the door while the older woman put her coat away. She kept the heels on though, causing Eyrie to wonder if she had guessed her daughter would protest if she began to slip them off. The Dunmer would have told her not to fuss but Eyrie could be just as stubborn and persistent as her mother and that woman knew when it was time to pick her battles. Of course, just because she knew when didn’t mean it happened often. Auri’ada was velvet over stalhrim over titanium, or so Eyrie often felt.

Sometimes though, when the proverbial glove would have been removed to show the will beneath, the Dunmer had begun to do that much less of late. That if nothing else had made Eyrie begin to wonder if there was something going on with her mother that she was being purposely kept in the dark about. She knew Auri’ada’s health wasn’t what it had once been, despite the other’s apparent vitality. But it certainly couldn’t be deteriorating so much or so rapidly that…

Shaking her head to dispel that line of maudlin and frightening line of thinking as her mother closed the mirrored door to the hall closet, she lead the way into the kitchen and retrieved two flutes from a cabinet for the rosé as Auri’ada sat herself in one of the chairs. For a moment she’d considered foregoing the proper glasses for the sparkling wine but changed her mind as her hands hovered over the ordinary tumblers. She knew her mother always appreciated it when she observed proper etiquette.

The Dunmer waited, hands folded quietly on the table while she regarded her Altmer daughter, with some amusement, as Eyrie popped the cork. Normally, in unskilled hands, the piece of wood would go flying. Not so with Eyrie; she removed it effortlessly without it becoming a mini-projectile or any explosions of the alcohol before pouring the gently sparkling liquid into the two flutes until it reached the invisible midpoint mark. Replacing the cork, Eyrie set the bottle into a small bucket of ice to keep it chilled before picking up her own glass. She’d drawn out the little ceremony as long as she could and Auri’ada knew it.

“You asked me here for a reason, a fe-raena,” she spoke quietly yet firmly, reaching for her own glass of rosé and holding the fine stem between the slender fingers of one hand, elbows never touching the table, back as straight as ever. Eyrie was sure her mother’s perfect posture was as much because of the stratum of society she moved in and the need for a powerful, authoritative image as it was due to her very curvaceous body.

For not being related by blood, there was still an uncanny amount of physical traits they had in common, such as the statuesque figure endowed with ample curves, the pale coloured eyes and similar shades of red hair. Her mother’s wavy tresses were less fiery though, a deeper colour, more akin to faded red wine or garnets. It was a colour more often seen in Dunmeri as far as red hair went. Eyrie’s was a brighter, lighter shade in the red spectrum, tempered with a touch of gold as was typical of Altmeri.

Where Auri’ada’s eyes were luminous as silver, fluctuating between the pale coolness of clouds after rain and a darker, warmer hue resembling something akin to the hot ash Red Mountain had often spewed out in the past, her daughter’s were a pale, vibrant blue, clear as the sky. If that one had not been a Dunmer and the other an Altmer, they could easily have been mistaken for blood relations. But that was not the case.

Still, you did not need to be bound by blood to be family, a fact both women were well aware of.

“It must be serious indeed for you to do that…” A casual sip of the wine and an arched brow over the rim. “And on a Fredas night, no less.”

Eyrie blushed slightly even if Auri’ada’s tone was light and the chiding touch in it playful, recalling a time when every Fredas had been the night she went out haranguing the countryside with a certain someone in particular. Ok, so, it had been more than _just_ Fredas nights; it had been at every opportunity that had presented itself, any moment where she could slip away without detection.  Any chance at a bit of carefree peace of mind, free from worries and rules…

Even as recently as last year she had spent her weekends up in the mountains. As she was certain her mother knew very well.

Not that she’d stopped because she got tired of it. Kalla had resurfaced, turning out to not only be alive but in need of her friend’s particular talents, to say the least – not everyone could make you disappear and give you a completely new identity and life – and that had taken a while to sort out. Not only that, but her mother had introduced her to Ondolemar and, unable to quite give up the thrill with the ranger, she had divided her attentions and time between the two men. Until Auri’ada had asked her to give the other Altmer the benefit of the doubt and really try to make it work between them. The events had happened back to back but that couldn’t be helped. On top of that were her normal work and some additional duties on the side that she couldn’t just drop. She’d simply run out of time to be honest.

And then the brilliant – “brilliant” – idea that possessed the possibility to give another semblance of normalcy back to Kalla’s life had manifested in her fevered brain. Actually, it was, at least in part, due to the small hellion’s twitchiness and propensity for acting like a damned rubber ball gone berserk that had made the Altmer decide to hand her off to someone who could better handle her. Eyrie had taken that solution and run straight to the mountains with it. Besides, she had left Bishop high and dry, as it were – if you wanted to be teasingly amusing, you could take that line quite literally at that. So how could she not kill two birds with one stone? It had all worked out in the end, Eyrie was happy to say.

She took another sip of the mild, not-too-sweet rosé, swirling the glass gently so the light scent of berries touched with hints of citrus and lily flower were released like a fine perfume. “Igni arrived yesterday.” She began with a sure voice only to be struck by the question of the order she was going to relay all of the events in. She decided to sit down before she began pacing as it would only make her mind run ahead of itself at a crazed pace. It would also have earned her a gently arched brow and a look that, while muted, Eyrie would be able to read all too well: she should and could control her emotions and how much of them she displayed better than that.

“She’d been sent up north, to the island of Solstheim, by Karliah.” Eyrie spread her hands in front of her as her mother’s elegantly defined eyebrows climbed higher on her forehead than was the norm. Undiluted surprise was what it was. Her mother’s expressions, tone of voice and movements had always been a lot more tempered than that of other people, at least as long as Eyrie could remember. This was an almost pointed reaction.

“Was it Ms. Hetman…?” The brows stayed elevated but the look in those softly silver eyes changed minutely, a knowing expression that finished the sentence without a word. The use of Karliah’s family name was an indicator that Auri’ada was ready to switch gears from the personal to the more official one; a question about in which capacity the other Dunmer had acted. Eyrie shook her head, not happy she didn’t have a more precise answer to that question. Especially when it plagued her, too.

“I don’t know.” She allowed a trace of frustration to slip into her voice at the confession. “I didn’t have time to meet with her today and confirm if the… expedition was on or off the record.” Considering the parties that were or might be involved, they did need to know that. At her mother’s look – a mixture of surprise and a faint touch of disappointment – Eyrie quickly moved on to the crux of the matter. She didn’t like seeing that expression on her mother’s face, it made her feel as though she’d ordered something her mother was allergic to and that tiny but important detail had carelessly slipped her mind. “Igni returned from the expedition with something rather… unsettling.” _That’s the understatement of the era,_ Eyrie thought but did her best to keep it from showing on her features. This conversation was difficult enough. It felt oddly similar to another situation that had gone horribly awry in the worst sort of way. The mer tamped down those wayward thoughts and shoved them aside, determined to see to the present predicament.

Auri’ada’s almond-shaped eyes quickly discarded the surprise at her daughter’s choice of words for something sharper, something far more determined and cold, and her full lips compressed as a wholly professional air settled over the older mer. It wasn’t anger at Igni but at the possibility of Treasury business putting her daughter even slightly in harm’s way when the Altmer wasn’t prepared for it. Eyrie almost jolted in her seat; it was the exact same look, the _exact same one,_ produced from the incident that her mind had involuntarily strayed to. At least she was pretty damn sure she’d read her mother correctly. Having spent nearly thirty-eight years around the woman – being adopted at one year of age – the Altmer could read the other mer quite well, at least when Auri’ada allowed it, and the Dunmer didn’t often feel the need to hide her intentions and feelings in front of her daughter anymore. _Often_ being the key word. Besides that, Eyrie was almost certain her mother was not a mind-reader, which made Auri’ada’s reaction deeply unsettling, to say the least.

“I took care of it,” Eyrie hurried along but Auri’ada’s expression didn’t change much. Ok, it didn’t change at all. To cover her discomfort, she took a bigger swallow of her wine.

“I’ll speak to the Little Bird.” For a moment she wasn’t sure whether or not her mother would whip out her phone right then and there and start berating the other Dunmer. Even if she did, there were a few things more Auri’ada needed to know before that happened. And it would happen. Eyrie knew that for a certainty.

“Half of it is locked up in the safe upstairs,” the Altmer continued, wondering silently why it was taking her so bloody long to get to the point. Then again, coming straight out with _Hi, mother. My friend Igni got sent to Solstheim by Karliah, a friend of yours. Sorry, I don’t know if the legal routes were properly seen to. Wine? Oh yeah, by the way, the Imperial showed up here a nervous wreck because some huge Nord with really freaky eyes fell on her head when she opened some old book mouldering away in some crumbling ruins. Best part? He claims to be an ancient Nord! Oh and he fairly reeks of magicka! Dinner?_

Yeah. That would go over like a lead balloon.

Auri’ada paused before her attention refocused upon her daughter, careful consideration now filling her gaze. The wheels had begun turning, Eyrie could tell.

“Half?” the Dunmer prompted, not looking for a confirmation but requesting an explanation with a penetrating look and deceptively level tone Eyrie had always felt weary of when she was a youth. It had been fun watching her mother turn that special kind of attention onto others though and watch them squirm if not outright scramble to get out of the direct line of fire. Right now it was rather mild compared to what she knew her mother could do with that particular look and vocal tone.

“Igni has the other half with her. It’ll make sense once I’ve fully explained so please be patient,” Eyrie responded with a nod before giving their forgotten food a small wave of a slender hand. “Let’s eat first?” Not so much a peace offering as another attempt at stalling, her mind told her.

Her mother considered the compromise for a heartbeat then nodded in the affirmative. “Very well, a fe-raena, we shouldn’t leave it to cool.”

Eyrie almost let out a quiet, relieved sigh at both the endearment and Auri’ada’s gentler tone returning. She wasn’t sure if another Oblivion Crisis was going to descend upon them once she’d told the Dunmer about Igni’s “interesting” living, breathing acquisition. If not him, it may very well happen when she revealed the contents of the tote but that was a bridge that would be crossed if and when she came to it. Even if the softening of Auri’ada’s demeanour was meant to lull others into a false sense of security.

Her mother could be completely ruthless in her handling of important matters, Eyrie knew. She had heard and personally seen several instances of it in actuality. However, where the Chief Ambassador to Skyrim would be merciless towards others, she would at the most be sharp of tone in reprimanding her daughter. The younger mer certainly felt her mother’s disappointment keenly whenever it happened to show, even as a woman grown. Not that she had intentionally set out to cause the displeasure in the first place. It was just a relief to know the Dunmer would never be that harsh and coldly reserved when dealing with her adoptive daughter.

Eyrie wasn’t quite sure what she would feel if the other woman ever did.

The Altmer had just begun removing the deep plates she’d used as lids to keep the food hot when Auri’ada spoke once more, fingers interlaced, eyes calm. “Would you oblige me and tell me of this other ‘half’ that Ignatia took home with her while we eat? Or do I need to see the contents of the safe first?”

Eyrie hesitated, a plate in one hand and the other on another piece of creamy white Bosmerya bone china with its traditional leafy border in a rusty red meant to resemble dried blood. The latter wasn’t necessary before the former, was it? Miraak, that odd mask and the magicka bomb package currently residing in her safe were all conundrums individually, one just as difficult to explain as the others. But… a description of the big Nord might even explain something? Maybe? Hopefully.

The wrapped parcel defied all her attempts at a coherent description, possibly because it set her so on edge to even be _near_ it. The mask, while odd in appearance and having traces of magicka clinging to it like cobwebs might just prove to be easy enough. Miraak, though…

She realised what her mother was doing: Auri’ada was giving her an out, the choice to just have a normal conversation over dinner, average mother-daughter interaction. Giving herself a mental shake, she put the plates aside and filled their secondary glasses with cold water, taking care not to tip any of the slices of lemon into the tall tumblers she’d set out before Auri’ada arrived to go along with the cutlery and place settings.

They didn’t get this kind of downtime often but she knew her mother appreciated business – especially important matters – being dealt with promptly and properly. Setting the water carafe aside, Eyrie decided to accept the offering. At least for a while.

“Seeing it might be best, yes.” She didn’t bother hiding the soft undertone of gratitude as she removed the last plate acting as a lid and nudged the bowl of Shimmerene Grape Salad a bit closer to her mother. The mixture of colourful greens and jazbay and surilie grapes with the mild honey-garlic vinaigrette had been ordered to go with the Dunmer’s Shimmerene Steak – a dish of grilled salmon with a glaze made of traditional Alinorian seaside spices and gently sautéed side of finely-chopped apple, baby carrots to lend a note of sweetness to the dish. Auri’ada’s responding smile to the action was amused, brows arched high on her still nearly smooth brow, as she met her daughter’s gaze but didn’t move. A second and then another passed before Eyrie sharply dropped her shoulders and openly stared at the older woman, the full weight of an unvoiced sigh filling her crystalline eyes.

It didn’t take long before Auri’ada’s smile broadened just a tad and her eyes softened into a more indulgent mien. She did begin transferring the salad onto her plate though so Eyrie considered herself the winner as she silently leaned back. When her mother stopped after only two thirds, the Altmer couldn’t help but grumble, “You’re not eating enough.” She wasn’t sure if it was her tone or the words that caused Auri’ada to chuckle at her before pushing the plate closer to her daughter’s end of the table.

Eyrie had chosen her dish for a reason. The Summerset Rainbow Pie was a decent portion all on its own with a thin, crispy crust filled with bite-sized chunks of braised rabbit, sweet potatoes and bananas, seasoned with mint, rose pepper and a delicate sprinkling of frost mirriam. Despite the addition of fruit, the dish was more fragrant than sweet and it was big enough to not need a side salad unlike the Shimmerene Steak whose addition of fruit and vegetable was meant more as a taste enhancer. Eyrie had tried to make the meal light by ordering the salad.

“I eat until satiated, never until I am full,” the Dunmer retaliated with smooth calm, meeting her daughter’s irate gaze head on without the decency to look the least bit disconcerted.

Knowing a lost battle with her mother when she saw one, Eyrie grabbed the remaining salad with a glare at the offending food. Not wishing to dwell on this loss – though she wordlessly promised the war was far from over – the Altmer turned her attention to something, hopefully, more pleasant.

“How’s work?”

“Same as always,” Auri’ada replied with a casual shrug as she finally started to cut into the salmon fillet. “Mrs. Ancarille’s complaining about her working conditions.” A pause then a smile that was just a trifle shy of being devious. “Again.”

“That’s Elenwen’s hobby.” That caused her mother to simply laugh softly at her snappish reply but the other mer didn’t deny it. It was true, however. Elenwen was difficult at best, downright impossible at worst.

“I did have plans for a meeting with Ulfric this weekend,” Auri’ada confessed casually, almost too casually, after a short moment of them silently enjoying their food.

A knife of guilt stabbed into Eyrie’s stomach despite how the words were delivered in such an unconcerned voice. Her mother wasn’t blaming her, simply stating a fact, she reminded herself, and there was usually a reason for even mentioning something that was no longer relevant.

“We were able to reschedule it for next week though.” The Dunmer paused, silvery eyes now meeting sky blue ones. She was assessing the situation and the possible severity of it, Eyrie realised as she waited for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long. “I was planning on going to Whiterun over the next weekend.”

Which meant she’d planned on going _this_ weekend, if Eyrie hadn’t needed her intervention immediately.

It wasn’t a slip of conduct or propriety due to the familiar, more relaxed setting they were in that had Auri’ada call the Speaker of Skyrim’s Moot by his given name. The two had first met little less than sixteen years ago when the Dunmer was barely a year into her term as the First Ambassador of the Aldmeri Dominion to Cyrodiil and the Imperial Union. Ulfric Stormcloak had just moved to the Imperial City as Skyrim’s latest representative in the governmental body.

It’d been interesting to watch them. Auri’ada Balacyr, the calmly confident highest ranking official of the Aldmeri Dominion who could impersonate the mild summer winds of Alinor or be as unforgiving and unmoving as the glaciers of Atmora. Shrewd, cunning, highly intelligent and always outwardly calm, friendly, welcoming, gracious… unless stirred too violently then a ravaging torrent would ensue to drown all those foolish enough to stand in her way. In other words, a force of nature not to be taken lightly despite outward appearances and demeanour. Once set on her determined path, nothing short of an act of a Divine would stop her. Even then, it was debatable.

And then there was Ulfric Stormcloak, the widely respected Chief Assistant to Skyrim’s Foreign Minister, chosen to be the figurehead of the northern-most inhabited country in the Union. He could also do a perfect impression of the remorseless winter storms that terrorised the Sea of Ghosts or an Imperial battle tank and was just as immovable as the Throat of the World itself. He’d also proven as proud of his heritage, homeland and people as any member of the Thalmor Eyrie had ever met or heard her mother speak of. A trait that’d been slower to show was the banked passion evident in his voice and stance when he spoke about something that truly moved him, or was meant to move others, but he rarely if ever allowed that fervour to roar to life and consume his temper. Eyrie had never seen it happen in public actually.

Were they similar, her mother and Ulfric Stormcloak? On one hand, yes, and on the other, no, not at all. Fire and ice, hot and cold, impassioned versus temperance, quick decisive action or a willingness to wait patiently.

From the earliest meeting just before the commencement of the political season at the beginning of Hearthfire in 188, it had been clear the large Nord did _not_ like the Dominion. Or meri – and he’d insisted on using the completely human word ‘elf’ despite how polite society had agreed to refer to the mer races by their own distinct term. And he had been especially clear about his thoughts on the biggest and most influential party within the Aldmeri Dominion: the Thalmor. As it was simply de rigueur to be a member of the Thalmor if you wished to deal in the Dominion’s foreign politics, Ulfric’s opinion of Auri’ada had been very set and very, very clear: she was not to be trusted, her motives, any propaganda that came out of her mouth, _nothing._

This, of course, had just made it all the more intriguing; that allure of someone or something so set against you eventually succumbing. In hindsight, it had been more than entertaining to start seeing the little changes where her mother was concerned, unwillingly done and wholly unwelcomed by the man himself. Granted, it took little over a year for them to appear and in the beginning they could be construed as mere politeness or political correctness towards a peer but once her teenage daughter had pinpointed an occasion and inquired what the heck that was all about, Auri’ada had smiled warmly and explained it very simply:

_“We are occasionally at war with ourselves, a fe-raena. The body – sometimes also the heart – wants what it wants while the mind says ‘no’. It is seldom that the mind wins such battles for supremacy, especially in males. But, if you can ensnare their mind, their body and heart will quickly follow.”_

It’d been hard to miss the amusement and completely feminine satisfaction the Dunmer had derived from what was happening and Auri’ada hadn’t been reluctant to explain the situation further on how to better read people in general. Eyrie had been the human equivalent of seventeen and, according to her mother, it would only benefit her from learning this skill as early on as she could possibly utilise it. She would be a grown woman soon enough and should know about all the weapons in her arsenal. The main one being her intelligence and quick appraisal of what motivated another person beyond the superficial.

It’d taken a few years but in the end the Altmer had understood what that indulgent smile her mother had initially given her actually was: a parent’s indulgent bemusement at their child asking about something so inexplicable as love. Whether that love grew out of desire or the other way around didn’t matter much, only the end result did. That understanding, as well as having experienced strong passion herself, allowed her to identify something else though, but this time in her mother. When she finally asked, the Dunmer gave her that same old warm, affectionate and somewhat amused smile. It just didn’t really disguise the note of sadness in her cool steel eyes. Ulfric had grown on her in the end, yes. _Unfortunately_. It was the words Auri’ada chose more than anything else that explained her unspoken thoughts and feelings the best.

_“Unfortunately…”_

Her mother had always been so very focused on her work, her career… on her daughter. Even after twelve, maybe even thirteen, years together, Auri’ada had never allowed her own or anyone else’s feelings to take priority. Eyrie wasn’t sure if she should admire or pity Ulfric for his enduring affection towards the Dunmer even if it was not quite unrequited. Auri’ada returned it, but in her own strange way. As far as Eyrie knew, he’d never been married and seeing how he was fifty-four now, he never might. Being a pure mer, Auri’ada was currently the equivalent of thirty-eight years old while her actual years put her at more than double Ulfric’s age. She was set to outlive him by a mile. Even her working life would probably reach beyond his lifetime if she wished it.

Of course, what with her mother’s health not being perfect for some time now and her spending more and more weekends down in marginally warmer but “geographically acceptable for her work” Whiterun Hold, Eyrie wasn’t sure what age the Dunmer would actually attain in the end. That made the time Auri’ada and Ulfric could steal doubly precious to both of them and extremely rare to actually do.

Those stolen moments, the knowledge that time was slowly ticking away for not just Ulfric and her mother but for her and Auri’ada was also something Eyrie didn’t wish to dwell upon. It was a bit like poking at a sore tooth or an open wound. You knew it was there but you just couldn’t bring yourself to discover just how bad things really were even as the infection spread and the blood slowly seeped out, shortening the thread of your life with each drop lost.

“I’m sorry for causing this impromptu change of plans.” She could tell her mother was about to wave it off, remind her, once again, that she didn’t need to worry; it was there in the minute fluctuations in Auri’ada’s expression and muscles. The Altmer hurried on to beat her to it, continuing with a genuine smile. “I hope nothing disrupts your schedule for next week.”

“As do I, Eyrenni,” her mother agreed as she reciprocated the gesture. “As do I.”

The wording was purposely vague but Eyrie had caught the implicated meaning: was whatever Eyrie had to tell her bad enough to cause major disruption? No, she certainly hoped it wasn’t that big. She knew it _was_ big but she hoped they could contain it without too much trouble because if they couldn’t… Their problems would involve more than suddenly having a stranger living with either her or Igni.

…Preferably with Igni.

Eyrie actually did love Igni like family, really – it was a bit difficult to not consider the Imperial as such when they’d known one another for almost half of Igni’s life by now – but she had to consider more than personal attachments this time. If she didn’t, her mother would. While Auri’ada liked the much younger human, Eyrie knew her mother well enough to say she wasn’t above using what assets were at her disposal and, indirectly, Igni was one of them. To a degree, even she was, Eyrie was fairly certain of that. She wasn’t positive beyond any shadow of a doubt, just… fairly certain. Part of her wanted to say that if she was an asset, she was one her mother would never utilise to her fullest potential for the simple fact the Dunmer didn’t want to harm her.

But then, what with recent developments and necessary revelations, Igni could now consider herself in a position for greater backup from the ambassador should the need arise. Auri’ada could be cunning and ruthless but she tried to be fair. She’d also often told her daughter that ‘try’ and ‘should’ are great words live by and aim for but were by no means rules to follow. And sometimes, sacrifices must be made - no matter who paid that price.

Eyrie let out a quiet, almost tired-sounding sigh and surveyed the table. They were almost halfway through dinner. They could dispense of the small talk by now. “The problem I mentioned, the other ‘half’.”

Auri’ada didn’t look the least bit surprised as the subject changed, merely picked up her wine glass by the delicate stem and held while meeting her daughter’s crystalline blue eyes calmly. Eyrie wasn’t sure if that was because the other mer was just that good at masking her emotions or even transitioning between them very smoothly or more due to the Dunmer having been expecting them to return to this topic long before dinner was done. Whichever it was, the older woman silently arranged the utensils neatly on her plate while taking a sip of her wine and gave her daughter her full attention with a gentle but encouraging smile that said she wasn’t going to jump up and bite her.

The image itself was rather amusing in its absurdity actually, almost causing the Altmer to laugh. The likelihood of Auri’ada ever acting so rashly was so completely anathema as to be a distinct impossibility! The Dunmer _always, **always**_ , looked before she leapt. More than twice, in fact, just to cover all her bases.

“It’s magical in nature. Both halves are actually.” _Just dive in head first and get it over with,_ Eyrie thought, _just like pulling off a bandage. Do it quickly_. It seemed like the best thing to do right now.

As she’d told Igni, her mother knew about magic and the slow return of magicka to Nirn. How long had it been going on? Eyrie wasn’t sure of the specific numbers but probably, maybe half a merya lifetime? More than a few pure meri, Altmeri and Dunmeri especially, reached the third century mark, of course, and almost all of them passed the two and a half mark for age but she felt quite certain in stating that magicka had been trickling back in, as her mother described it, for a full human lifetime. Her mother hadn’t told her too much though, just enough about what Eyrie needed to know in regards to its return, the plausible speed it was coming back at and techniques on how to manage her own… weird little traits, such as controlling her thoughts and emotions. It was all classified after all – any and everything to do with magicka and its return – by the Thalmor.

She’d asked her mother once if any human authorities or organisations knew about it. Auri’ada had considered the question seriously for a moment before answering decisively: No. Eyrie knew that answer was backed up by official Thalmor sources.

So what was Igni’s involvement? Technically, none. Karliah and the Wolfqueen’s Treasury though… That was a slightly different story, to say the least.

“Do these _halves_ strongly resonate magicka?” Auri’ada’s almost too calm-voice called her daughter’s attention back to the matter at hand, causing the Altmer to nod warily.

“They do. And…” Her words died slowly on her tongue and a frown began to creep up onto her brow. The phrase that’d come to mind was ‘unnaturally so’ but could she really say that? What point of reference did she have? None, really.

She’d felt magicka to varying degrees all her life but she’d never felt anything quite like what was dripping off of Miraak before, not to mention the package in the tote. That thing was like the energy Miraak possessed but condensed, definitely stronger in feel and… somehow tainted? Unnatural? No, that wasn’t quite right either. It felt like magicka but not… of this world? Or nothing like she had ever encountered over the years in various locations around Tamriel. What Eyrie did know for a certainty was that it was definitely off-putting.

She couldn’t help but shudder, recollecting the almost slimy feel of the essence of the wrapped whatever-it-was tingling against her fingertips. Thinking of it like that was unsettling because it had to come from somewhere, right? There had to be a source and it could be bigger or smaller than whatever was in the package. She’d like to know the source that was feeding Miraak’s magicka and the content of that bag, just to calm her own fears that it wasn’t _actually_ a torrent or some odd nexus of magicka that had manifested on Nirn. Something told her they weren’t going to be that lucky, call it a hunch or her own personal intuition.

“A fe-raena?” Auri’ada prompted, still quite gently but with a bit of firmness to draw her daughter of her reverie.

Crystalline blue eyes met silvery grey, a rare colouration in a Dunmer. Her mother’s gaze, much like the older mer’s voice, held a shade of concern but it was overpowered by the reassuring, steady calm Auri’ada projected. Eyrie wrapped that around her like a blanket. It’d been so long since she last felt magicka emanations as potent as those that came from her earlier guest and the evil package but with her mother here maybe she could not only regain some of her lost composure but also receive some severely needed answers.

“I don’t know quite how to describe it,” Eyrie confessed carefully. She didn’t like to fail her mother and on this particular matter there were few enough precious sources Auri’ada could use to get the necessary information from. She could count on one hand how many people there were in Skyrim at present that had even a fraction of active magic in them, not to mention purely inactive, innate magicka. Of course, as of yesterday, she had one finger less for some unknown reason.

“Say it in whichever way you need to, a fe-raena.” Her mother was using that endearment to instil a measure of calm in her, Eyrie knew, but because of the warm, gentle tone it was spoken in, the Altmer didn’t much care. She simply nodded, flashing her mother a small but sure smile. Sometimes, just _sometimes_ , it was nice to be able to let everything go and just trust that your parents were going to fix everything, even at her age.

“Unnatural. Weird, off.” Eyrie put into words the thoughts she’d had but moments before and shook her head at that, more to dispel the memory of the sensation she’d gotten from the package than what she’d felt trickling off of Miraak.

“Eyrenni, what exactly was it Ignatia was sent to retrieve?” Auri’ada was leaning forward ever so slightly now, eyes focused, sharp, and while her voice was still calm, she spoke slowly and precisely. Eyrie almost twisted in her seat, _almost_. Her mother was starting to think fast now, putting down all the pieces of the puzzle she’d been given so far, few as they may be, in an attempt to see the proverbial bigger picture. Taking a fortifying breath, she laid crux of the last twenty-four hours’ weirdness on the table.

“A mask, a medium-sized, fabric-wrapped package and—” Eyrie paused, nipping her bottom lip between her teeth as she idly twirled her wine glass between her fingers, watching the contents swirl against the costly crystal. Finally, taking a slow, deep breath for fortification, she met her mother’s gaze. “And… a man,” the Altmer finished, watching the other woman closely to see if she could catch any sort of reaction.

“A… man?”

Her mother was staring now, silvery eyes blinking rapidly. It wasn’t an open-mouthed, dumbstruck kind of stare but given the slightly parted lips, incredulous words and silent, unbroken focus of the Dunmer’s gaze, it could just as well have been classified as such. The urge to fidget rose by several degrees; she realized she was doing exactly that and snatched her hand away from her champagne flute, folding them in her lap, squeezing her fists between her thighs in an attempt to warm them.

Eyrie was about to continue when her mothered recovered, visibly pulling back one mental step as the surprise and confusion, having lasted only mere seconds, bled away and the older mer’s mind jumped forward two paces like a motorbike revving up. The Altmer wasn’t sure if it should’ve been fascinating or scary to watch the neutral silver shade of Auri’ada’s eyes seemingly drop in temperature, the hue changing into a cooler steel grey.

“This man – a _human_ – has _magic_.”

It was said without rancour but it wasn’t a question, either, because the ambassador didn’t need it to be. In spite of how little her daughter had said, she was already certain of the two factors that mattered; a human with magic, firstly and secondly, apparently he was not self-taught or otherwise. There weren’t enough people in the world that had active magic that could teach it anyhow. This was something that had not occurred naturally in years. Decades. Bloody Oblivion, it’d been almost half a dozen _centuries_ since the last recorded instance of magic being used by man, mer _or_ beast! If anyone was even suspected of having a font of magicka or an ability to wield it, passively or actively, the Thalmor would have found them and... recruited them. And now a _human,_ of all creatures, her daughter told her, seemingly had a font of magicka at his fingertips and could use it! Oh, this would not do, not one bit.

Altmerya scientists first discovered the return of magicka around 9E 45; at the very least a human lifetime ago, if not more. Roughly a century later, in 9E 143, the very first merya child was born with innate, active magicka, thanks due to highly meticulous methods of selective breeding by the Thalmor. Keeping the whole matter under strict supervision had helped in maintaining and containing it to a small scale and was done to prevent any major mishaps from occurring. The re-emergence of magic in the world was not something the Thalmor felt need be common knowledge. Nor did they feel that the humans or beast races were worthy to be so blessed. They were, after all, mere children even upon death when compared to a merya’s long lifespan; should one of those other races reach the age of one hundred, a pure-blood mer would be the comparable equivalent of thirty-nine. That was also a key indicator to the Thalmor exactly _who_ should have the use of magic in the world of Nirn. A longer lifespan offered one more time in which to learn, to grow, to master an art. To perfect it. It gave one the proper maturity to not flout such gifts but use them properly, with the due amount of finesse and intelligence required. Not to simply destroy out of a juvenile, rage-induced temper tantrum.

Or so was the manner of thinking – and opinion, really – of the more elitist-minded members amongst the Thalmor. As Auria’ada had heard from Elenwen on more than one occasion: “You can cure ignorance, given time and the inclination of the ignorant to wish to become better than what they are. You cannot, however, cure stupidity, no matter the amount of time and energy invested in the subject. Stupidity appears to be a genetic trait of the lesser races.”

The “lesser races” being those not of merya blood, of course. But since this came from that particular Altmer, who had been and still was a bit too far from the heart of political power in Tamriel and the Dominion as well, the Dunmer viewed the other woman as nothing more than a jumped-up provincial much too keen on giving herself airs and honours she did not deserve, thus displaying her own personal shade of stupidity. It was entirely debatable how in-touch Elenwen actually was with the inner circle of the Thalmor, the ones with the real power and final say over literally _everything_ – even what developments Queen Ayrenn is apprised of – and the matters that they dealt with. Which justified Auri’ada’s low-opinion of the Altmer, as Auri’ada was officially higher ranking than her _and_ was fortunate enough to consider the Queen a close and personal friend. Unlike Elenwen.

Thankfully, Elenwen was not here, nor did she know as much as she might like to think she did. Which gave Auri’ada, at this specific moment, much more freedom and leeway to come to a proper conclusion. Although that would only happen after her daughter gave her a bit more information to work with.

“Tell me, a fe-raena,” the Dunmer resumed, speaking just as calmly as she had before. She finished her wine and set the flute precisely onto the flower-embossed coaster provided, looking across the table to the young Altmer. “This human, the man, do you believe his magical abilities to be active or simply passive?”

“Active based on what Igni told me.” At the quiet affirmation of the statement, Auri’ada’s intense gaze flashed back to meet Eyrie’s careful eyes. Her mother’s visage almost made her nervous enough to want to swallow or look away because right then there was _a lot_ of the Chief Ambassador, the high Thalmor official and the Queen’s confidante in it… but not much else. The Dunmer was running a risk assessment in her head, the Altmer was certain, only she wasn’t sure herself where on a scale of one to ten – one being slight and nothing to be much concerned about and ten being the Oblivion Crisis all over again – this situation would end up in her mother’s reckoning.

A tense moment later, the older mer exhaled a sigh, gently shaking her head. “You’ll need to tell me everything as we finish dinner, Eyrenni, lest we forget it altogether.” Eyrie was quick to show her agreement, refilling both of their wine glasses. She had a feeling that they both would need the fortification to deal with what was lurking in the safe in her office. Her mother also knew she’d be upset later at the thought that the darker mer was eating less than was her norm. However, before they resumed with their dinner, Auri’ada made an addendum: “And afterwards I need to see the contents of the safe.”

 _And here I thought she was not a mind reader! So much for that misconception_ , Eyrie silently groused, feeling much like a teenager back in Cyrodiil again. It wasn’t like she could protest showing the contents of the tote to the Dunmer but the Altmer didn’t say that. Instead, she simply nodded. “Of course, mother.”

As the two women finished their meal, exchanging occasional warm glances, Eyrie couldn’t stop the small ball of trepidation in the pit of her stomach from growing steadily larger. The source of it was due to the fact she was not keen on having her mother that close to something that could potentially be dangerous to the Dunmer. While Eyrie could sense the menace and power radiating like nuclear waste from the contents, Auri’ada could not. Even if Eyrie had protested, her mother would find a way to get her hands on that tote, sooner or later. The older woman had a way with words, expressions and actions that made others eventually bend to her will. The Altmer would’ve had more luck preventing the sun from rising over Akavir than she would over changing her mother’s mind at this point. At least that’s how it felt when in situations such as this. Not that there had been many, mind you! But there had been one in particular that hit just as closely to home for the red-haired mer. Even now it could still bring a phantom ache to her chest.

Eyrie finished her food, sat back in her seat as she sipped her wine, watching the graceful, economical movements of the Dunmer woman who was both mother and confidante as she set aside their dishes. She reflected again on the ruthlessness Auri’ada could display when circumstances called for it. She almost held her breath, waiting for her mother to call the meeting to order again. Something inside the younger Altmer made her sit forward, reaching out a single hand to clasp the other woman’s.

“You’ll be careful around these objects, won’t you?” Eyrie felt ridiculously like a scared little child, frightened of the imagined draugr lurking in her closet.

Auri’ada paused and blinked, offering a maternal smile at the show of concern. “Of course, a fe-raena. When am I ever _not_ so?”

The two women looked at each other, holding gazes for a heartbeat. Satisfied with what Eyrie saw in Auri’ada’s silver eyes, the Altmer nodded and released her hold on her mother’s hand. She set her wine flute onto the table and rose from her seat.

“It’s upstairs. I have it locked away.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood outside of the office, the Dunmer waiting patiently as her daughter tried – for the third time! – to tap in the code to turn off the security so they could unlock the door and go inside. When that attempt failed, Auri’ada finally interjected.

“Would you like me to do it?”

Eyrie paused, glancing at her mother as she ran her slightly damp palms over her thighs. She could feel the cold sweat that trickled unpleasantly down her spine beneath her blouse but shook her head in the negative. “I’ve got it, Mother. Thank you, though.”

At the elder mer’s vaguely sceptical expression, Eyrie firmed her resolve and tapped in the combination – correctly, this time. The locks clicked softly as they disengaged. She continued to stand there. Her mother, however, opened the door and, flicking on the overhead lights, went unerringly to the tapestry on the wall that concealed the safe. It took all of the self-control the Altmer possessed to cautiously edge inside her own office. As it was, she stayed near the door with her back pressed against the wall, keeping as far away from the ick that was ‘the tote’ as she could get while still being in the same room. Just in case the bag sprouted legs or something just as peculiar.

Her mother had no trouble remembering the code to the small vault or typing it in. Despite how the safe’s door swung silently open, Eyrie imagined she could hear a ghost of a whisper of thick, bubbling laughter. It sounded almost… amused. Or happy? It was some kind of positive emotion, she could swear it, but it made the fine hairs on her arms and back of her neck stand on end. Although seeing as her mother hadn't appeared to hear it, she chalked it up to her imagination running rampant. Or her mind playing tricks on her. Just like the last time. Only last time she had actually handled the contents of the tote when that same sound had echoed in her ears and through the room and…

 _Would you stop already?! You’re a grown woman, not a child!_ she ranted silently to herself, rubbing at her arms as Auri’ada drew the tote from the gaping maw of the safe. Eyrie could _swear_ it was staring at her but that was ridiculous. Bags did not stare. Bags did not sprout legs or arms or teeth and certainly did not have maws full of black menace waiting to swallow the unwary. She kept repeating that to herself. Silently.

She swallowed the bile that rose up the back of her throat as the Dunmer proceeded to place the tote on the nearby decorative table, next to a vase containing hothouse flowers native to Alinor. She shuddered, holding her breath as her mother proceeded to open the bag with one smooth pull on the zipper slider and drew out the contents without so much as flinching, making Eyrie feel ridiculously like a child all over again. The Altmer couldn’t refrain from biting the inside of her cheek as the mask was revealed, glimmering faintly with the mellowed patina of antique gold. It was by far the least troubling piece of the puzzle – especially if you included Miraak himself – but it still creeped her out.

“That one isn’t…” she began as her mother lifted the face piece to the light.

Auri’ada paused, casting a calm, lingering glance at her daughter but beyond that she didn’t say anything or comment on the younger woman’s reluctance to come any closer. Her mother was being patient with her and it wasn’t only for her benefit.

Eyrie squared her slender shoulders, stiffened her spine as she took firm hold of her resolve and pushed away from the wall… half a step. It wasn’t much but it was progress, damn it! It’s not like it was her fault that her survival instincts were screaming at her to chuck the tote into the fire and let it burn, baby, burn! If she had any sense – or more importantly, could convince her mother that was the best course of action – that is precisely what she would do!

Unfortunately, now that the Dunmer had the tote and all its evil contents in her hands, that was about as likely to happen as her moving any closer to… **_it_**! Then again, no matter her desire, they couldn’t just destroy it, she knew that. She knew it and still! This was too important for her personal feelings to override better judgement. Her mother needed an as neutral assessment as possible.

“The mask isn’t really a problem,” she elaborated as she obstinately kept her eyes upon the Dunmer’s face and ignoring the… thing. “It has _some_ inherent magicka or… something similar, but it isn’t as strong or unsettling as the package or… well, Miraak.” She finished off with a helpless wave of a hand towards the container of the nuclear magicka bomb in her office.

Auri’ada listened patiently to her daughter even as her red brows climbed higher on her brow. Setting the mask down on her lap, she folded her hands atop it. “Who is Miraak and what does he have to do with any of this?”

Eyrie paused, snapping her mouth closed. Had she forgotten to give his name this entire time? Not that you could really blame her if she had really forgotten, all things considered. “Miraak is…” _How_ was she going to explain him? Damn it! Sighing, the Altmer tucked stray strands of her own more vibrantly red hair back behind tall, elegantly tapered ears. “This is going to be one of the strangest incidents that have to do with magic yet, I believe, and it might honestly be easiest if I were to just introduce you to him.”

Her mother’s brows arched still higher at that explanation but after a quick appraisal, the Dunmer nodded. “I am going to assume he is the human with magicka you mentioned earlier.” The silvery eyes flickered up, meeting and holding sky-blue ones.

It was statement, not question, and Eyrie knew it. Expect her mother to connect the dots so quickly. “He is,” she reaffirmed anyway.

“Then I believe it is of the utmost importance I do meet him,” Auri’ada told her daughter, reaching into the bag again.

“It’s more than important,” Eyrie interrupted the other mer, causing the woman to pause with half of her hand swallowed by the evil tote. The Altmer almost, _almost_ asked her to pull the appendage back to where she could see it fully before continuing because she was way too close to _not_ feel the weird, uncomfortable energy radiating from that fabric prison. If she didn’t concentrate on it, she could possibly manage to remain in the same room as the bag for a while longer. Maybe… Hopefully. She could tell her mother about Miraak outside the office, couldn’t she? Nothing said they had to be in here with that… _disturbing thing_ while talking.

What she _really_ wanted was to drag her mother out of this room, slam the door shut and lock it and— Eyrie stopped, realising she’d just envisioned setting fire to her _entire house_ rather than just torching the bag and its contents simply to be rid of it. The image of the sacking-covered parcel lighting up her huge stone-mortared grill outside was more satisfying than it should be. But the desire to destroy that strange package didn’t go away in the face of logic or sanity; it lingered like a clammy touch upon her clothed skin. Her hands were already grasping her upper arms by the time she noticed she was doing it. She couldn’t make herself loosen the grip though.

That thing had to leave. Now! By whatever fucking method, the tote’s contents would _leave_ her house tonight.

“A fe-raena?”

Eyrie startled, blinking rapidly at her mother’s face that held the same mild concern her voice’d had.

The feeling of being silly and childish battled with the instinctual notion that she was _not safe, not wrong and in the presence of…_ of what? She’d once felt a similar apprehension, a sensation or belief that had crawled down her spine before seeping into her marrow and blood and had made her whirl around because her mind, her primal survival instincts had screamed at her: **_DANGER!_**

There hadn’t been one, of course, not per se anyway, but the feeling… the feeling she couldn’t have denied or forgotten. And now it was here but slightly different. It was less wild and untamed perhaps and more…

Eyrie shook her head, both to halt that train of thought and in response to her mother who looked like she was about to come over to her. “I’m sorry, it’s… That package beneath the mask, it’s… disturbing to me. On a magical level,” the Altmer confessed as she tried to dispel the anxiety from her voice but failed.

Auri’ada’s brows dipped in silent misgiving but she didn’t get up and go to her daughter’s side at those words. She merely turned back to the tote and dove her hand deeper inside with calm, confident efficiency. Eyrie cringed, she couldn’t help it. She wanted to rush over there with four leaps of her long legs and tear the bag away! She couldn’t move though, her feet felt like they were chained to the plush, champagne carpet but she didn’t want her mother to touch that package. There was no telling what would happen! And if something did… would the Dunmer know? Would she feel anything? Would Eyrie sense it? Or would her mother leave here with an invisible mark upon her body that would spread like poison over her skin and seep into the flesh and bones and do irreparable damage?

She wanted to move. She _had_ to move!

She could hardly take a breath and then Auri’ada’s hand was retracting and the ominous piece of rectangular fabric came into view.

And the sensation of disquiet and alarm rose while the chant of _“get it out, get it out! GET IT OUT!”_ rushed through her head as she remained unable to move an inch closer or further away. The sensation that had dripped off of Miraak was positively delectable compared to this! How could she not have sensed this before, when she first shoved the tote in the safe? Had she been overwhelmed by the new sensation or by the dual presence of Miraak and the package? Or – dread rose in her throat with a thickness and acidity usually reserved for bile – had it grown while she was out? Had it simmered and thickened, becoming richer like a slow-cooking stew?

“It’s a book.” Her mother’s calm, quiet and soothingly confident voice pierced the din in Eyrie’s head, shaking the murky, almost green-tinted fog that had settled over her mind, temporarily blinding her. The Altmer blinked large, almond-shaped, blue-on-blue eyes hard as the older mer came into view again. When had she lost sight of her mother? Of the room? She couldn’t tell. How could she let her mind rush ahead of itself like that, blinding her to the here and now? She usually didn’t…

She swallowed and forced her gaze towards her mother’s raised hands and the loose, inconspicuously taupe fabric framing… a book, indeed. It looked old, worn but not damaged or ancient beyond the multi-coloured patch-work cover. Eyrie frowned but didn’t get closer. Scratch that, the cover was made of sections of _something_ sewn together but didn’t resemble any fabric or material she was familiar with. For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, staring at the cover for too long was disturbing, the faded colours of the, she assumed, hide just made her skin crawl.

And then it hit her.

Igni had spoken of a book and when she’d opened it…

“Book… _That’s_ the book!?” The only way she could get the words out was if she spat them out, forcefully ejecting the harsh, almost caustic syllables that tasted more acidic than an unripe lime. Crystalline blue eyes zeroed in on the just as foul tome with a repulsed glare. _That_ was the book Igni had mentioned? The one she opened and then suddenly had Miraak drop on top of her, seemingly out of thin air?

On one hand it felt positively stupid that she hadn’t considered the package to be the key to that incident due to it being in the tote and its energy had resembled that of the tall Nord’s. On the other though, it’d been right in front of her, hidden in plain sight in a sense, and the energy that had flooded her senses had been strong and strange yet a touch familiar but mostly just plain alien and disturbing. But it had been a near magicka-esque power and she hadn’t felt that in abundance in… decades! How could she not have focused on the energy, its pattern and flow and potency, despite the wrongness and impurity at its core?

And now here they were and all she _still_ wanted to do was burn the fucker.

“You know what it is then?” Auri’ada was regarding her still, calmly bringing the focus back onto the matter at hand. Eyrie nearly shook her head again. How did her mother do it? She could only hope that one day she could pull off that kind of composure with even a modicum of the same amount of aptitude and dignity.

“Yes, Igni told me about it,” Eyrie replied as she warily glanced at the book again. Her eyes immediately wanted to slip away, focus anywhere else of their own accord without her actually doing it. That was another odd thing to add on top of the pile of already odd things. “She said everything had been fine and quiet in the ruin until she opened that book and then… Miraak appeared out of nowhere.”

Wrenching true surprise or shock from Auri’ada was an extremely rare occurrence and making it happen twice in the same evening was practically an abnormality in and of itself. However, it seemed to be the week for strange events and freaky luck because there it was again upon the Dunmer’s countenance. It made Eyrie feel bad for being the bearer of such unsettling information.

“It would appear this man, Nord as far as I could tell, hasn’t really been, uhm… around recently,” the younger Altmer finished uncertainly as she quelled the desire to scratch her cheek to simply have something else to do with her hands.

The more she spoke about Miraak, the weirder and more insane it sounded. How could she make her mother believe something she wasn’t even sure _she_ wanted to believe? Then again, her mother could be as paranoid and thorough as Kalla, so maybe the older mer wouldn’t ask if she’d dreamt it all. Neither was Auri’ada slow to pick up the tiny clues and cues her daughter was giving her. Eyrie didn’t need to spell it out; the other mer had understood the connection between Eyrie’s reaction, the book and Miraak’s appearance.

“He also kept having strange reactions to technology and spoke a weird language at times that I couldn’t place.” _And was stupidly rude!_ her mind supplied angrily but she didn’t say it. That was less important right now but she’d warn her mother before she met the nuisance of a man about his haughty attitude. If anyone could match or outrank it, Auri’ada could. With ease.

The Dunmer kept regarding the younger woman with silent focus, letting the information Eyrie had conveyed settle before her elegantly shaped brows drew up at the centre with an expectant look the Altmer recognised as a wordless inquiry. Yes, there was more, unfortunately, however… “Could we maybe leave this room first? Please?” She knew she sounded as childishly pleading as she felt she looked but at this point Eyrie honestly didn’t care. She just wanted further away from that book.

Auri’ada’s soft smile with its touch of maternal concern was quick to appear and she immediately rose smoothly from the two-seater settee, book sandwiched between her hands. One of the slender appendages had the cloth in between it and the cover but the other was touching the thick, stitched hide, almost making Eyrie cringe despite how nothing seemed to happen to her mother. Or the book; it didn’t sprout legs or fangs, at least.

“Of course.” The Dunmer refolded the fabric loosely over the troubling tome before replacing it into the tote and leaving it on the small side table as she stepped closer to her daughter. Eyrie was glad her mother left the bag behind. Of course the woman could tell that the book bothered the Altmer but the older mer parting with it meant the book hadn’t had any direct or severely strong effect upon her. At least Eyrie thought it hadn’t. She also hoped it would remain that way and that it was only someone sensitive to magicka or who possessed active magic that could detect the disturbing energy pouring from the volume like a dreadful nimbus.

Once the office door closed behind them with an audible click, Eyrie felt a relieved sigh escape her. Had she been holding her breath since her mother agreed to exit the room? She wasn’t sure but she felt light now. She could still feel the book’s power through the door – possibly because it wasn’t locked up behind steel and titanium right now – but it was so greatly reduced as to be almost gone unless she searched for it.

“A fe-raena?”

“Yes, of course.” Eyrie nodded, grateful for her mother’s endless patience with her. Sometimes it felt like she relied on it too heavily and should kick that habit. _That’s a challenge for another day though,_ she thought and ignored the mental whispers of “procrastination” while indicating the closed door leading to the guest room at the end of the hall.

“He slept in there yesterday night while Igni passed out in my bed.” At the arched brow from her mother, Eyrie lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Wine. You know how she gets with Sunset Rose.”

Auri’ada nodded, a corner of her mouth twitching oh so faintly, before moving down the hall, somehow combining a leisurely pace with unerring purpose. The woman had been in politics one way or another for nearly eighty years by now, a feat on its own considering her current station in life and that she was a Dunmer, one not born within the Aldmeri Dominion but in her race’s native Morrowind at that. Her mother had moved to the heart of the Dominion, Alinor, in the year of 118 to study Public Relations and Aldmeri law but somewhere along the lines Auri’ada had met the then crown princess Ayrenn. Something about the other mer had made the Dunmer change tracks and delve into the political arena instead then incorporated Imperial Union as well as Tamrielic law for that extra bit of oomph to her CV.

Eyrie understood friendships, personal charisma and politics well enough to say it probably wasn’t only her mother’s skill, quick wit and charm that had gotten her onto the path that would one day bring her to where she now was but the Altmer was also certain the major factor to the older mer’s success was her abilities and personality. Having the princess now Queen’s backing and considering Auri’ada a personal friend certainly had not hurt the Dunmer either.

“So, this man – Miraak, was it?” A sidelong glance at her daughter allowed Auri’ada to catch the nod. “You’re suggesting he might have been… locked up _in_ the book?” the Dunmer inquired as they reached the door, stopping as she placed her hand upon the handle. It was a supposition, of course, and suppositions were most of the time dangerous – at least if you allowed them to be the only possibility or solution to a problem or query. The older mer didn’t believe in assumptions. She believed in cold, hard facts and preferably lots of them before you allowed yourself or anyone else to make a final call.

However, if Auri'ada could nudge her daughter towards enlightening her with her theories, of which the Dunmer was certain there were more than a few, then the elder mer herself would have a sturdy base to work from. She knew Eyrie'd had more than ample time in which to concoct several theories and discard a number of them as well as ruminate upon others and build a stronger base for them than mere supposition. The younger Altmer had spent almost an entire twenty-four hour period with the human male and so should have more than an inkling of his capabilities. Between the two of them, mother and daughter, Auri'ada was certain they could obtain more pieces to the puzzle of this Miraak character to gain a bigger picture. She'd know more herself once she met him – and she _would_ meet him, that was a certainty – but the elder mer preferred by far to be prepared for any and all eventualities. Knowledge was power, after all, and since she didn't have any active magic, innate magicka or even a sensitivity to the… substance, she was forced to rely on everything Eyrenni could tell her about the items upstairs in the safe and the man that had apparently dropped onto Ignatia from out of Aetherius, for all she could surmise.

No matter what the Altmer told her, the ambassador was secure in the knowledge that her daughter always told her the truth and did so with full disclosure. Not many could be trusted to do as much. Whether they were mer, man, beast or other, all mortals had reasons for doing what they did, the choices they made and the secrets they kept. She was no different, of course, but her duties didn’t allow her the luxury of trusting strangers, acquaintances and sometimes even friends to tell her the whole truth in a timely manner because more often than not more than just a project’s schedule relied upon the immediate divulgence of all acquired information.

And she preferred to be the judge of what was germane or not.

“I know how unreal that sounds, to be trapped in a book of all things. Or be summoned from it or locked up somewhere else and just… _spat out_ once the…” she sounded like a lunatic and couldn’t help it. Eyrie flipped one hand in a gesture that was almost helpless to explain the inanities of Miraak’s appearance… arrival. Whatever! “Once the lock or seal had been undone – I don’t know exactly,” Eyrie confessed with a bewildered, helpless shrug, both hands raised now as though she’d been about to beseech some higher power for an answer and then stopped halfway through the action.

To be fair, she wasn’t sure if a seal was a real thing. It was used often enough in movies, just like swords or cups or a thousand other items were used to break those seals or locks. Fantasy was just plain out there most of the time and often only made sense to the deluded minds who wrote it since they based it off of myth or came up with it from pure imagination. Of the few books or movies in the genre of “fantasy” she’d sampled, she could confirm it was rare to find a story that had a basis in fact. She much preferred historical documentaries or the occasional romance or action flick to that tripe. But that wasn’t the point right now!

“There are a lot of things I can’t say for sure about him,” she continued, forcing her mind to focus, as her mother opened the door to the guestroom and walked in. The Altmer followed close behind. “I honestly can’t say if it’s a case of where or when he’s from, or _both_.”

At her mother’s raised brow and almost doubtful gaze as the older mer cast a momentary glance back at her over her shoulder, Eyrie couldn’t help the flush overtaking her cheeks and making her chest hot. She did understand how utterly ludicrous time-travel sounded, not to mention it seemed to be a staple concept in a good number of romance novels, but the thought had struck her. Besides, scholars had debated for decades, if not centuries, if these historical mentions of “Dragon Breaks” were actual phenomena, philosophical names for periods of little to no advancement of culture and civilisation. Or were just religious fabrications meant to explain less savoury events, atrocities or actions that no one wished to acknowledge and were trying to sweep under the proverbial rug. The jury was still out on why large chunks of history were… well, _not recorded_. Anywhere. And so no one could agree on the exact cause for this lack.

Auri’ada made a soft sound in the back of her throat, folding her arms beneath her bosom as she continued to regard her daughter. ”Is there anything else you can tell me about him?” The question was almost casually posed, as though the answer wasn’t of any great import. Auri’ada began moving about the room in a slow, methodical manner, fingertips brushing against the furnishings here and there, silvery eyes roaming without pausing anywhere for long. Her mother was occupied with studying the room, Eyrie knew, but the older woman’s hearing was focused solely on her.

“Not much, no,” Eyrie confessed with a defeated sigh before giving as detailed but summarised version of the events to date, even relaying, again summarised, the information Igni had told her of Solstheim. “All I can say is… He’s got a way with words that can, at times, grate on the nerves.” Eyrie was proud to say that she managed to keep her voice _mostly_ neutral for that last statement, mostly but not completely, judging from the amused twist to the corners of her mother’s mouth as the woman finally stopped beside her. The guestroom wasn’t big but Auri’ada had been thorough. The Altmer wasn’t sure if seeing the room had been of any use though. It was in perfect condition.

“I’m sorry to hear that and thank you for the forewarning,” her mother soothingly acknowledged her grievance with Miraak’s manners before the silent laughter in her eyes slipped away to be replaced by a curious light. “But tell me, a fe-raena, how did he appear during the day? Well-rested? Calm?”

Eyrie frowned in confusion. Nothing had been very… out of order with him, had it? Well, he’d certainly been more agreeable or careful, Divines be praised, but beyond that? “As far as I can say; yes. Why?”

“Because, Eyrenni, no one has slept in here.”

Eyrie stared. Her mother’s countenance remained calm, assured, direct, nothing to suggest she was testing her. Eyrie blinked, shifted her gaze to the bed and finally registered what her mother had already ascertained.  But… that couldn’t be it. That just wasn’t possible. She blinked again, hard.

“You mean…?”

Auri’ada smiled gently, one hand indicating the whole room with a smooth arch of a hand. “He has certainly been _in_ this room but slept in the bed?” She shook her head. “No. However, if he slept while seated in the armchair, I cannot say.” The Dunmer moved over to the mossy green leather and mahogany armchair, sinking down into it gracefully before leaning back. She looked straight at Eyrie and that steady gaze drove the fact home. The armchair was standing exactly opposite to the door. She didn’t go into this room all that often but she was pretty certain that furniture used to be closer to the bed by almost half a foot. Had he moved it? She hadn’t really been of a mind to consider it when she delivered the mead the night before. _Had_ he even drunk any of it? She sincerely hadn’t paid any attention to the state of the cup or the contents of the bottle when she dropped both off in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Fuck.

And what _was_ the man, anyway, if he hardly ate or drank and didn’t sleep? A machine?! Or maybe he was like Kalla and just a freak of nature? Could it have anything to do with the disturbing magicka she felt rolling off of him? Maybe it made him… super-human? And back into the realm of fantasy she was dumped! However, she did have a, uh, small fact to base this assumption on… Okay, okay, it stood about five feet tall but Kalla’s affliction wasn’t… _magical_ in origin! And he still had some weirdass, possibly corrupted magicka in him. Unless that was how magicka naturally occurred in humans? Now that was a disconcerting notion, to put it lightly.

Eyrie rubbed a hand over one side of her face. If he hadn’t slept at all, it should have been noticeable, right? But since he hadn’t given the impression of being tired and been almost the same today, maybe he had rested while in the chair? But why? “Why the chair? It makes no sense! Or…?”

Auri’ada smiled contentedly even though her daughter didn’t complete the sentence. Eyrenni didn’t need to. She knew her girl’s mind was already starting to speed as the factors and logical conclusions began to trickle in. The Dunmer was many things but no one would ever be able to accuse her of not teaching her daughter how to analyse people and situations and plan accordingly. “You mentioned how he appeared unfamiliar with his surroundings, with technology,” she supplied with a mild voice and encouraging gaze.

“He didn’t feel safe. Or perhaps he was displaying behaviour of… culture shock.” The words weren’t voiced like a question but the glimmer of uncertainty in her daughter’s eyes made Auri’ada incline her head in affirmation.

“Those are possibilities, yes. That, or he was expecting something or someone else perhaps. It is, however, only speculations for the moment. I might be able to say more after I’ve met him.”

“Right,” Eyrie muttered, resisting the urge to rub her temples that were starting to throb with a dull ache. “He’s currently with Igni. We… I didn’t really know where else to stash him.” At the amused look from her mother, red brows climbing her still smooth forehead, Eyrie blushed faintly, realising how that sounded. Releasing a muted cough into her fist, she cast crystalline blue eyes to the floor for a moment. It was true though, even if the wording was slightly insulting. “Miraak didn’t seem too averse to the arrangement.” Not that he’d been given much of a chance to protest the arrangement in the first place.

“And Ignatia?” Mirth thickened the ambassador’s voice and Eyrie raised her gaze again.

“Has only complained a little.” _So far_ , she added mentally while keeping the sheepishness out of her voice. The reason Igni hadn’t complained more, she assumed, was because she hadn’t given the Imperial the opportunity. She was certain that would change though, because if nothing else, Igni would _find_ an opportunity or create one.

Of course, to combat this uncanny ability, Eyrie had developed manually activated selective hearing, amongst a few other tactics to bypass it. Those failing, divert the Imperial’s focus, such as pointing out wickedly embarrassing antics or make uncharacteristic innuendos. That usually did the trick and derailed Igni sufficiently. Ah, the joys of making her blush and splutter! Sometimes it was just too easy. And the results far too amusing for Eyrie to even resist doing otherwise.

Her mother was regarding her thoughtfully once more. When Eyrie raised her brows in silent inquiry, Auri’ada stood up, smoothly pushing herself out of the padded depths of the chair. “You mentioned Ignatia said this was Treasury business.” Eyrie hardly had time to nod before the Dunmer continued, voice no longer considering but certain. “I need her to go to the office and get any documents related to this reclamation job, any emails sent or received. Everything.”

“And Miraak?” Eyrie asked as she moved out of the way, indicating for her mother to precede her back into the hallway.

Auri’ada considered the question for a moment as they left the guestroom, Eyrie closing the door behind her. “For now I shall assume the decision to leave him with Ignatia is a sound enough one.” At least until she’d met him. Her mother didn’t need to say it, Eyrie was pretty certain of the silent addendum to that statement. “Until we know more…” The Dunmer frowned as she halted a few steps from the office door, a considering glance settling on it for a moment. “Do you still have that reassurance from last year, Eyrenni?”

Eyrie blinked.

The… OH. That thing. She’d almost completely forgotten it.

She nodded. “I do. It’s in the office.” It had been gathering dust for months now. Ever since she felt she didn’t need it anymore, which was slightly before the… reason for acquiring said “reassurance” had moved away. Eyrie didn’t need it anymore. Surely her mother wasn’t suggesting…?

“Inspect it and if it isn’t serviceable, inform me. However, if it is, see if you can acquire some refills. If it proves a problem, prepare anything you have handy and I’ll see if I can’t pull a few strings.”

Apparently Auri’ada _did_ mean exactly what Eyrie’d suspected. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned while she listened to her mother’s practical instructions. In the end, all she did was nod. “I’ll look into it.” She knew where she could most likely go to get what she needed and still make it quick. “And… about Karliah?” That was a twofold problem. “If Igni wasn’t meant to be at work today, she’ll definitely be expected on Morndas.” She had considered this briefly before the fun challenge of ushering Igni and Miraak into her car, something that had stolen her attention completely earlier today. Speaking of cars… Igni’s was still outside. Oops. Maybe she could drive that one over later.

“I’ll deal with Ms. Hetman _and_ the Little Bird. Ignatia will be taking a well-earned, paid vacation for her troubles,” Auri’ada replied with a casual sort of nonchalance usually reserved for saying you went to the grocery store and picked up milk and bread. “Possibly for a somewhat extended period of time.” Eyrie didn’t doubt her mother could get Karliah to sign off on it. The wording of her reply also confirmed that the Dunmer would be seeing to both sides of the problem.

 _I guess that’s_ good, Eyrie supposed blankly, and then she frowned. Aetherius only knew what Igni would have to say about being stuck babysitting her tech vandal. One thing was for sure though; Ulfric Stormcloak wasn’t the only one who could be an Imperial battle tank. Eyrie had once considered a bulldozer as an appropriate equivalent but after a moment’s thought, she’d corrected herself. A bulldozer wasn’t enough, not when her mother was set on something.

“Now, the evening is getting on.” Auri’ada’s mild but cheerful mezzo-soprano brought her daughter’s attention back to her. “I believe we could both benefit from some rest, and so, if you don’t mind, a fe-raena, I shall take that tote bag with me.”

Eyrie couldn’t help the relieved smile the spread over lips, tugging it open in a wide grin. One small part of her wanted to refuse, to tell her mother she shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ take it. It was too dangerous! But the majority of her held the protest back, glad to be rid of the bag’s disturbing content. _Mother isn’t magical in the least_ , she reassured herself as the closed the short distance left to the office door. Nothing bad could come of Auri’ada keeping it. It would all be okay.

At least until she called Igni. Eyrie was certain she would get an earful from the Imperial. Weighing her options, Eyrie decided that call could wait until she’d had a decent night’s sleep. With the evil tote out of her house, she might actually achieve that objective. One battle at a time…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altmeris:  
> A fe-raena – my pride and joy (lit. the source of my pride/happiness)  
> Raena – pride, source of happiness [RAI-na]  
> Mer (pl. meri) - elf  
> Merya – elven  
> Altmer (pl. Altmeri) – Altmer, Highelf  
> Altmerya – Highelven  
> Bosmerya – Woodelven
> 
> As you could see in this chapter, we decided to add a political and cultural depth to the words used when describing the elves in this modern world of TES. This will give an indication to how PC, casual or rude a person is. Example: merya, merish and elven.
> 
> For those of you interested in knowing the ref source of all the elven languages displayed in MSR:  
> https://www.imperial-library.info/content/hrafnirs-languages-nordic  
> If some stuff maybe differs from sources like the TES wiki or the UESP site, it's because the Imperial Library has a far more in-depth page on these languages and I love being able to play with them. For the Dragon speech Miraak uses, my source is this:  
> https://www.thuum.org/dictionary.php?letter=A
> 
> Speaker of Skyrim’s Moot/the Moot is kind of equivalent to a prime minister, the term is just longer than the average four years.
> 
> And just for fun. Name meaning:  
> Karliah Hetman – (canon, unknown), Steward (Dunmeris)  
> Auri’ada Balacyr – Deity of wealth/gold, Heart of power (Aldmeris)  
> Elenwen Ancarille – Oak woman, Glorious hunter (Altmeris)  
> Ignatia Carvain - Like fire (Latin), (canon, unknown)  
> Eyrenni Balacyr - (none/original), Heart of power/Power's heart (Aldmeris)


	7. Mismatched and Opposites Attract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few essential pieces are gathered up as well as a precautions or two gets collected, but are they truly necessary or not? Who is a danger to whom? And a few new faces appear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever tried finding a new flat and moving on three weeks while working full time or more? I don't recommend it. It's very disruptive to progress elsewhere.
> 
> Small correction update. We found a few misses. WOops

 

~ 27th Rain’s Hand, Loredas ~

Eyrie flounced over onto her back with an irritated sigh, staring unblinkingly up at the sheer, gauzy, cream coloured canopy of her bed. It was no wonder she was restless, seeing as she’d only gotten perhaps six hours of actual sleep – that had been fitful at best – after her mother had left the night before. She cast her gaze over towards the small alarm clock on her bedside table; it looked like an antique but actually wasn’t. The early hour chimed with a quiet, gentle melody before resuming its ticking. Barely five a.m.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep so the mer tossed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the big four-poster, slipping her dainty feet into a pair of soft, fur-lined slippers as she dragged her dressing gown on over her pyjamas. She needed to take a shower and do her normal morning routine before she made the necessary calls.

 _Maybe breakfast first_ , the Altmer thought, looking at her hazy reflection in the mirrors of her bathroom. She rubbed at her tired eyes, shoving fingers through her tousled hair. Her mother always insisted on meeting the world for the day with a full stomach. Gods only knew when she’d have time today to have another decent meal so she might as well have one while she could.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

She pushed a few lonely little snowberries around the bottom of the otherwise now empty bowl with her spoon as she took a sip of her coffee. The faint glow from the surface of her phone was mocking her, Eyrie was sure of it. She _should_ call her mother to reconfirm their plans for the day. She _should_ call Igni to ask how the Imperial was faring with her ‘guest’, seeing as the human hadn’t called her since early Fredas evening and that could either be good or bad. Or maybe that was because Miraak had fried Igni’s replacement phone. That was always a possibility for the “deranged tech-murderer”.

Who she _needed_ to call was _not_ a morning person. Or maybe his new pet had turned his schedule all around… Kalla liked early morning walks. Or runs. The horror of the fitness-obsessed.

Debating on which person she might be most likely to get a bit of entertainment out of disturbing this early, Eyrie set down her coffee cup, left her spoon in the bowl and picked up her phone. She knew the answer to that. Humming softly as a faint if somewhat impish grin curved the corners of her lips upwards, she swiped the screen to get into her contacts list, found the number she wanted and hit the dial button. Sitting back in her seat to get more comfortable, she crossed her long legs, allowing one black pump to dangle idly from the toes of that foot. It bobbed gently up and down in anticipation of bearding the wild beast in its lair. It was the small pleasures in life, truly.

He picked up on the sixth ring.

“Good morning, Grumpy!” the mer said cheerily right off.

“What’s up, Trouble?”

Eyrie arched a single red brow. Bishop could be a bit terse at times, as she very well knew, especially when she called and woke him. However, the ranger’s baritone didn’t hold the gruff timbre she recalled him having upon just waking. Which could only mean that A, he’d taken to waking up earlier in the day –  not bloody likely – or B, someone had kept him up all night – in more than one sense. She arched the other brow and asked sweetly, “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

There was the sound of the phone being moved, as if he were holding it against his chest. The mer caught faintly from the other side, “Would you stop? You’re distracting me.”

Eyrie muffled a giggle behind her fingers as she heard the feminine laughter that filtered through the speaker. Ah, good! Her other pet was antagonizing the ranger so maybe she could get away with making her request without him asking too many questions. With any luck the little monster had muddled his brain, too.

“Bishop?” She barely managed to keep the laughter out of her voice. “From the sound of it, I _am_ interrupting. Don’t worry, this won’t take but a moment.” She kept her tone sweet and even, purposely light as she posed her question. “I don’t suppose you’d be busy this afternoon so that I could swing by?”

“What? No.”

Oh yeah, he was definitely distracted, if the hitch in his breathing was any indication. Eyrie pressed her lips together to keep from bursting out laughing. This was going a lot more smoothly than she had anticipated! “Good! I’ll see you then.”

“Uh, yeah. Later, Trouble,” she heard clearly then, muffled again, “Oh that’s it, you little fiend…”

Eyrie clicked off the connection. _That_ she did not need to hear. Again.

Next on the list of people to call would be Igni… Had that woman survived the night? It was debatable. Seeing as Eyrie hadn’t gotten a distress call about needing to bury a body, the mer felt it safe to assume either Miraak or both humans were still alive and breathing. Able to move, well, if Igni had taken the opportunity to work out some of her frustrations, then chances were looking good neither of them would be able to so much as twitch.

Sky blue eyes travelled over the bright kitchen, lit by early morning sunlight that just peeked over the tall, neatly trimmed privacy-hedges that bordered the yard. Finding the chic, contemporary clock on the wall – her gaze went to it more out of habit than anything else considering she had a phone in her hand that could just as easily have shown her the time – Eyrie contemplated the hour. Just closing in on six. She supposed it would be too early in their acquaintanceship for the big Nord to be distracting Igni much the way her pet hellion had oh so thoughtfully done with the ranger. She could hope though, right?

Opening up her contacts again, she located the Imperial’s number. Eyrie tapped the dial button, an expectant smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. She counted half a tune before the call went through.

“You seriously suck!” Igni all but screamed at her.

The Altmer wasn’t sure if she imagined the hint of angry desperation in those three little words or not. Nevertheless, that was no way to greet a person. Especially one as generous as Eyrie had been to Igni and her unexpected guest. Bloody Oblivion, the Imperial should be _thanking_ her for helping the human actually get a man inside of her flat, let alone to spend a night with her. It wasn’t Eyrie’s fault if the other woman didn’t use that time more constructively. At least the other two beasties in her menagerie were doing what she expected them to be doing. But Igni? Oh no, she had to be _difficult._ All jokes aside though…

“Well, good morning to you, too, Ignatia,” Eyrie replied a bit brusquely, still a touch peeved. “I slept well, thank you for asking. How did you sleep?” That wasn’t the complete truth but it’s not like the human would know; not unless she were a mind-reader. And from the sounds of it, Igni hadn’t slept much either but not for what the mer viewed as very good reasons.

“Eyrieeeee,” Igni growled the low warning huffily.

“Oh hush,” the redhead replied patiently, slipping her pump fully back on as she uncrossed then recrossed her legs. “You’re still alive so that’s what matters, hm?” She paused a beat to listen to the sputtering on the other end. “Unless you died a few little deaths and just haven’t shared this information yet?” More sputtering greeted the rather indelicate suggestion that implied Igni and Miraak had put the Imperial’s mattress to more uses than just sleeping. But really, any flat surface would work…

“Eyrenni!” Igni snapped this time, the word curt and sharp as a hand-clap.

The mer hummed quietly in question, snugging the phone between shoulder and cheek to pick up her coffee again. The thick porcelain had kept it from growing too cold to be undrinkable and was comfortingly warm against her palms. “Is something wrong? Don’t tell me his stamina isn’t up to snuff.” She allowed a note of disappointment to creep into her otherwise affable tone.

Eyrie couldn’t quite seem to help herself; it was a moral imperative she antagonize her friends. If she didn’t, they might start to think she didn’t like them anymore. Not to mention Igni owed her for the joy of being introduced to yet another large, pain in the neck of a Nord.

The Altmer grinned, this one much more feline in appearance, while she held the cup at chin level as that thought gave her even more ammunition. “You don’t seem to be exercising that sharp tongue of yours as fully as you normally would. Did Miraak wear it out?”

The sound of a door slamming shut loudly made Eyrie resort to holding her coffee with one hand as she snatched up her phone with the other to stare at the screen. Well. _Someone_ was certainly in a mood! And not a very good one either!

“Can you not make comments like that, please?” Igni’s strained voice said a moment later. “ _He_ could have heard you!”

The mer tsked softly, replacing the device in the cradle of her shoulder and cheek. “If he was close enough to hear me, how close to you was he exactly?” Had they slept in the same room then? Or even the same bed and… nothing had happened? That was truly disappointing. Miraak’s strangeness aside.

“Eyrieee!” The human all but wailed. “That is _so_ not funny!”

“It’s hilarious from where I’m sitting.” This time she held the phone further away from her ear at the string of expletives that came rolling out of the speaker. Setting her drink back down onto the tabletop of the breakfast isle, she returned the phone to her ear, saying soothingly, “Now, now, he can’t have been that bad. I’m sure he can be trained.” She paused to give the Imperial time for that to sink in before continuing. “Or if he’s as old as he claims to be, maybe he taught _you_ a few things.”

What the mer heard next she could only describe as distressed bird noises. A high sort of fretful chittering that ended in a whimper. Good. That should teach Igni for answering the phone the way she had.

Taking a deep breath, Eyrie placed the phone back between her cheek and shoulder so she could pick up her coffee before it became completely unpalatable. “Well, seeing as he hasn’t broken you or anything else yet, because I’m certain you would have said so if he had, I need you to go into work today and gather up any files you have pertaining to the reclamation job on Solstheim. Save any emails that have to do with it to a thumb-drive, too. I think I need to see them as soon as possible.” She paused for breath before hurrying on, not giving the human time to protest. “Oh, and Mother wants to meet him as well so do try to make sure he’s bathed and dressed properly for dinner time, will you? Surely you can manage to persuade him it’s all for a very good reason.”

“ **HOLD! UP!** ”

Eyrie winced at the loud noise in her ear before levelling a small glare at the wall of windows facing the garden, imagining she could send it all the way to Igni’s flat in the northern parts of Katla’s Farm. The human had a good pair of lungs on her when she actually decided to use them. One small part of the mer wished, now more than ever, they’d been used up to the point of raw last night. One day Eyrie was going to stuff something large in Igni’s mouth. Seriously.

“Your _mom_? The _ambassador_ wants to meet him?” Igni’s voice had dropped into an agitated whisper by now. “Why?” The decibel level rose as an incredulous note replaced the annoyance. “And it’s _Loredas_! _And!_ I can’t leave him here alone. He’ll destroy my house!” The Imperial’s mood seemed to be running a mile a minute given how it cycled through emotions faster than a slaughterfish tore into prey.

“Your unswerving faith in your guest’s control of his abilities is touching, Igni,” the Altmer retorted sarcastically, absently wondering what Igni’s thoughts about Eyrie’s own powers and her control of them would be if the human ever found out about them.

“He broke my car.” If a voice could be both scathingly hot and cold enough to burn, her friend had just delivered a shining example of such an oxymoron. Eyrie was actually impressed. No doubt a furious glare accompanied the statement. Not that the mer could actually see it. “While just _sitting_ in it!”

“So you said.”

“Don’t you _dare_ use that soothing voice on me, Eyrie,” Igni growled threateningly in the Altmer’s ear, forcing her to quickly drop one hand from her coffee cup and cover her mouth with it in an attempt to silence the laughter bubbling up. She couldn’t help it! The Imperial was sounding particularly amusing right now. Like an angry kitten hopelessly tangled up in a ball of yarn. The imagery didn’t help Eyrie any so she gave her head a little shake to clear it. Still, that had been more than funny, if she did say so herself.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The repeat performance in the same vocal tone if a different wording was rewarded with a very muted, short kind of keening sound Eyrie assumed came from the human pressing her lips together in a paper-thin line to not scream out loud. Releasing a gentle sigh, the mer smiled at her bright kitchen. She supposed she could give Igni a hand… Without teasing this time around that is.

“I’ll drive you to your office, how’s that?” the redhead offered good-naturedly. A bonus to that would be that Eyrie didn’t need to wait for the files either.

Silence reigned for the space of several heartbeats before the Imperial responded, the inflections now somewhat more resembling calmness. “And the serial tech murderer you’ve put under house arrest in… oh yeah, _MY house_?”

 _Well_ , Eyrie thought, _aren’t we being a bit overdramatic this morning?!_ Capturing a sigh of mild aggravation before it could pass her lips, the Altmer closed her eyes and drew on her plentiful reserves of patience. “I’m sure he is not as bad as all that,” she gently chastised. “Miraak will be coming along so your toys and gadgets will be quite safe.”

Silence. Eyrie had no doubt Igni was weighing several responses she could make. Thankfully, she settled on the one least likely to piss the mer off. “Fine. And then?”

The Altmer sipped her coffee again, enjoying this conversation far too much. Perhaps she should have called Igni first? Ah well. You know what they said about hindsight being 20/20. “Make sure your flat is clean, Igni. Mother and I will be over tonight so she can meet Miraak.” She paused at further distressed bird-noises from the other end of the line. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to cook. I’ll pick up something on the way over.” Divines knew everyone involved would thank her for that. Igni wasn’t exactly the domestic type, far preferring to delve into musty and mouldering ruins than learn how to make something more savoury than porridge. “For now, get yourself and your guest ready. I’ll be there in roughly an hour to pick the both of you up so you can get those files.”

She cut the connection, not bothering to wait for a reply. She knew the Imperial well enough that given the opportunity, Igni would start on a tirade and once started, it was damned near impossible to halt its progress. Better to just not provide her with an opening. She would make one herself eventually, anyhow.

Eyrie sat back, laying her phone onto the table. She stared blankly at the black surface as she mentally sifted through her options. She could drive Igni’s car over to the Imperial’s flat, pick both her and Miraak up and take them to the Treasury that way. However, if she did that, the mer was certain Igni would run for the hills first chance she got, thus stranding Eyrie with the odd supposedly ancient Nord. That was not an option even in the slightest. If she drove her own car and went to the Treasury with the pair in tow, it’d mean Igni wouldn’t have transportation and thus wouldn’t be able to make an escape.

But what to tell the other woman if she asked about her car? Bah. She’d cross that bridge when and if she came to it. For now, the best option she had was to drive her own car, pick up Igni and Miraak, take them both to the Treasury to retrieve the files Auri’ada said she wanted to have a look at and then drive them back to the Imperial’s flat.

She’d return Igni’s car tonight when she brought her mother over to meet Mr. Serial Tech Murderer. Eyrie was certain her mother would give her a ride back home after dinner. Auri’ada had her own car and personal driver as well so it wouldn’t be any inconvenience. One of the perks to being the Ambassador.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long to make it across town to the Imperial’s flat out near Katla’s Farm suburb. Eyrie didn’t even have to get out of the car to go ring the buzzer or even send a text to the human woman to let her know she’d arrived. Igni came barrelling out of the building so fast it was apparent she had been just _waiting_ right at the door for the mer to arrive.

Miraak followed Igni out of the building, but at a more dignified pace. He was dressed in his black slacks and shoes but this time the wrap-shirt he wore was a very dark midnight blue. His sunglasses were also perched on his face, hiding his strange eyes. His black hair was swept back and orderly, just brushing his collar, giving a clear view of his bold features and the scars upon them. From all appearances, it seemed Igni had at least done as she was asked and made him presentable to the outside world.

Eyrie wasn’t sure if she should be worried or not at this odd turn in the Imperial’s attitude towards taking directions. She would have had more time to contemplate it but…

“Took you long enough,” Igni groused as she slid into the front passenger side seat. She jerked her seatbelt into place and fastened it with more force than was strictly necessary, or so Eyrie believed.

The Altmer arched a single brow, surveying the human woman with a cool glance. Other than the terseness of her greeting and the irritated scowl on her face, the human seemed fine, wearing a fresh pair of blue jeans, a plain white tee-shirt and her lightweight leather jacket along with her customary boots. It was on the tip of the mer’s tongue to say something snarky in reply but she just shook her head instead. There were brick walls and then, at times such as this, there was Ignatia Honoria Carvain. Eyrie didn’t feel like getting a bruise on her forehead, literal or otherwise.

The mer adjusted her rear-view mirror once Miraak had gotten into the back. The top of his head almost brushed the roof and he looked like he was a bit cramped. Well, nothing she could really do about that, not unless Igni was feeling generous enough to move her seat slightly forward. Which she was not, given her current mood.

“You may want to help him with his seatbelt,” Eyrie suggested quietly to Igni.

There was a short, silent battle of wills before the Imperial finally huffed and unfastened her own seatbelt. She turned around and started instructing the Nord on the niceties of automobile safety measures once it became clear Eyrie wasn’t going anywhere until he was fastened in. When the Imperial turned back around and had refastened herself in, the mer nodded once, mollified.

It helped that Igni’s cheeks were almost the same shade of red as her hair from embarrassment. However, the reprieve was short-lived.

“Have I told you how much you suck lately?” Igni started off, folding her arms beneath her bosom and hunkering down in her seat as she levelled a glare at the Altmer.

Eyrie kept her eyes on the road, heaving a mental sigh as she waited for the Imperial to start in on her. She’d known it was only a matter of time. And it would seem that time had run out.

“Do tell?” The mer quipped, not quite able to keep the sharpness from her tone.

Igni’s glare intensified. She held up a hand, first finger extended. “This jackass you stuck me with didn’t eat…” she paused for effect then continued succinctly, “THE ENTIRE. BLOODY. WEEKEND.” Another finger joined the first. “He didn’t sleep!” Another finger. “I haven’t seen him drink anything either.” Another finger. “It took me over an hour to explain to him how the fucking shower worked.” Her thumb joined the other four digits. “Oh, and let’s not get started on how much _fun_ it was to explain the toilet, huh?”

While she had kept her silence and facial expression neutral during the Imperial’s recital, one of Eyrie’s finely shaped brows now arched high as she attempted to discern what was actual fact from what was embellishment. Ordering the list in her mind, the mer ticked the points off.

“For one, it was not an entire two days you spent alone with him, it was only a matter of hours. If you wish to be exact, perhaps twelve. Are you trying to suggest that you cannot handle that amount of human interaction?” Eyrie glanced at Igni who was again sitting with her arms folded and a mulish expression firmly in place, lips compressed into a thin line. “Secondly, be thankful he wasn’t hungry. We both know you can’t cook and save your nasty looks for another time, you know it’s true. Thirdly, as for drinking, at least he didn’t empty out your bar. And really, did you try to micromanage every little thing?” Eyrie paused, if only to draw breath to continue. “Fourth, in regards to the shower, maybe you’d be in a better mood had you joined him, and lastly, for such things as the toilet, they sell books on how to potty-train. Maybe you should have looked up one of those on your pieces of tech he hasn’t ‘murdered’.” Her brows danced higher for a second as amusement momentarily stole over her features at that one word. “Gods know you have enough gadgets to make even the Embassy look like they’re lacking.”

Eyrie stopped at a light and finally turned to look at the human woman. For her part, Igni’s eyes were as round as saucers and her cheeks were a bright almost incandescent red. Presumably because of the intimacy – shower – comment and seeing how Igni _could_ banter and wasn’t a hermit – at least not all the time – her response – or lack thereof – was… interesting. Was it Miraak or someone else Eyrie’s words brought to the forefront of the Imperial’s mind? There was that mysterious guy that was supposedly going to join Igni and Eyrie and a few of their mutual friends for drinks a few months back but he had called off at the last moment. Him, perhaps? She’d figure that one out sooner or later but for now she transferred her gaze to Igni’s mouth that was hanging open. The Altmer did sigh then, commenting, “Close it or flies will get in.”

Traffic started to move again and Eyrie had to revert her attention back to the road and other drivers so she didn’t get to see if Igni actually did shut her mouth. “How do you know if he slept or not, anyway?” she asked after a moment. “Did you follow him around your apartment the entire time and not let him out of your sight?”

“I showed him how to work the television,” the Imperial stated.

 _And so another victim falls to the seductive wiles of technology and the entertainment industry_ , Eyrie thought with some amusement before pouncing upon what her annoyed little friend had left unsaid. “And is it correct for me to assume he didn’t fry it?”

Silence before the answer was given, albeit grudgingly. “He did not.”

“Well then,” the mer said, feeling a quick surge of vindication even as part of her found great amusement, as well as tiny bit of regret, at hearing that little confession. “He’s not as bad as you make him seem, now is he?” It filtered through her mind that it was incredibly rude to be speaking about Miraak the way they were, like he wasn’t even there, when he was actually sitting in the back seat. But the big Nord had been silent while Igni had railed and he’d remained silent when Eyrie had responded. The Altmer wasn’t sure what to make of him now any more than she had been when first introduced.

She glanced up at the rear-view mirror and Miraak’s reflection in it but it was impossible to glean any hints as to what he may be thinking because of the dark glasses he wore. The man had an even better poker-face than her mother and that was saying something. She’d get her chance to question him and get his side of things once Igni was inside the Treasury to retrieve the files and other information. Provided Miraak was feeling talkative, of course.

Eyrie flipped on the radio as brooding silence was not something she wanted to deal with just now. Since she was feeling a bit charitable, she even picked a station that played mostly classical tunes. It didn’t seem like she was going to get any objections from her right anyway as Igni was staring out her window with the same stubborn set to her jaw and shoulders while she twisted a lock of her dark ruby auburn hair between her fingers. The man in the back was, predictably, doing a spot-on impersonation of a marble statue.

The joys of apparently being the only adult present.

Thankfully, seeing as it was a weekend and morning, traffic wasn’t all that bad on the city roads. Eyrie managed to reach the Treasury in record time and with her nerves only a fraction frazzled.

“Remember,” she reminded the Imperial, “I need _any and all_ files pertaining to your reclamation on Solstheim, and emails, too.” Eyrie paused, recalling one other thing her mother had told her and decided now was just as good a time as any to tell the Imperial. Especially on the off-chance that Karliah or someone else in charge who could cause a delay was in the office. “Also… you’ll be taking an extended paid sick-leave.” When Igni swung her head back around to glare at her, the mer halted any further argument with a few succinct words. “My mother insists.”

Igni snapped her mouth closed, threw the Altmer a mocking salute before climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. When up shit creek, you didn’t throw away your paddles; you hoarded them and bided your time while plotting your escape. Gods help Igni, but that was precisely what she intended to do.

Eyrie watched the Imperial as she crossed the parking lot, zipping between the few cars that were parked in spaces closest to the building. The mer almost held her breath as the human made it to the front door of the seven storey building but unfortunately, Igni stopped as a huge blond man approached her.

Eyrie waited a few seconds, almost mistaking the guy talking to her friend for a security guard of some sort – with his towering height and impressive build, that made sense – but then it registered that he wore dress slacks and a button-down shirt and was carrying a briefcase. _Must be one of Igni’s co-workers_ , the mer thought, dismissing them both. She recognised half a dozen or so of the Treasury’s people on sight – aside from the people in charge, of course – but the private evaluation firm and auction house had many more on staff than that. Igni was a big girl though. She obviously appeared to know the man well enough because they’d entered the Treasury together. Maybe he was the mysterious drink-deserter?

She turned her focus instead onto the other passenger in her car. Sitting stiffly upright in the back seat, Miraak appeared relaxed, for him at least, if a bit ragged round the edges. _If he hasn’t slept at all yet, that would explain a thing or two,_ she mused.

Considering him for a moment, Eyrie reached over to Igni’s seat and pulled it forward a bit. Maybe she should just ask him to come around and sit in the front instead? If she did, would she have more glaring or bird noises on her hands once her charming little friend returned?

 _Bollocks to that,_ Eyrie thought. _She can deal with it._ “Would you like to sit up here instead, Miraak?” the mer offered, turning slightly so she wasn’t speaking to him without directly facing him.

“Your offer is well received, insehofkah, but I believe I will remain here,” was the quiet and polite reply.

Eyrie managed to keep her brows from rising at the use of the archaic word but just barely. He’d called her that the night Igni had brought him to her villa. She made a mental note to do a search, if only to find out what exactly it meant and which language it was. “I believe I can understand your reluctance but I can assure you that I do not drive the same as Igni.” She did pride herself in having good driving skills. Bishop may have taught her how to drive a bit less… carefully, shall we say, but her base lay with the proper observance of rules and regulations that her mother’s driver and main personal bodyguard in Cyrodiil had employed.

“Were you intending to leave Ignatia here then?” Was asked in the same polite, quiet tones he had used previously. “And may I inquire as to where you would be taking me, if that is the case?”

Eyrie blinked. “What? No, no.” The ideas this guy got into his head! Really! Even if she did leave Igni behind, her phone would start ringing soon enough and then she’d never hear the end of it. Igni’s earlier estimation of Eyrie’s person would be mild in comparison. “As someone with long legs myself, I know how uncomfortable confined spaces can be. The front seats always offers more room in a car.”

“Again, your offer is well received but I shall remain where I am. I thank you.”

Well, wasn’t he just a bucket of calm? And after having been trapped with a spazz-tastic Igni for almost half a day. Eyrie refrained from shaking her head but the desire was certainly there, like an itch that she couldn’t quite reach. It’s not like she could force him to do something he didn’t want to.

“Very well then,” the mer acceded with a light inclination of her red head. She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted her position instead, to be better able to see Miraak without her headrest obstructing her view. It wasn’t the most elegant of positions but, what choice did she have? “Might I ask how you are feeling today?”

“Feeling?” He echoed back at her before she noticed the skin of his brow smoothing, as if he had figured something out. He clearly had because he answered. “If you are wondering as to how I am faring, I will admit to finding your world very… odd. As for my well-being…” Miraak paused and seemed to consider how to reply.  

 _Odd_ didn’t even scratch the surface of it. Since he’d been ejected from, torn out of or had somehow managed to slip through a crack in Apocrypha and end up in this realm, the sheer number of absurdities he’d witnessed were growing exponentially. It certainly looked like Nirn; if he mentally stripped away the tall, glass-like buildings, he could recognize the ghost of the land that he had known before. But _now,_ and as impossible as it may have seemed, he was in a different time than even the fourth era.

The sensation of displacement was staggering. This _was_ Nirn but at the same time, it was not. It was a completely and vastly different world than the ones he had known or been even passingly familiar with.

The very air felt different as well; empty and calm at the same time. Lacking the essence of magicka. It was heavier, smelling not of green, growing things or even ash but of metal and other such scents he had no name or comparison for other than perhaps a forge. The strange, black serpentine ropes that bordered what he thought were roads – and the roads themselves resembled dull obsidian – had a trace of something akin to shock magic but he had not been able to investigate them because Ignatia had forbidden him from leaving her home. She’d ranted about something she’d termed a ‘black-out’ and accused him of possibly causing one if he went anywhere. When he’d inquired as to what that was, she’d stared at him and, with a quiet sort of doom and reverence, just said; “It’s when all goes quiet”. That hadn’t explained a lot but she appeared unwilling to elaborate further.

He’d been attempting to investigate similar black cords he’d found in her dwelling but as soon as he got near them, the woman let out an almost pained noise if she didn’t snap at him to leave them alone. However, he had been able to investigate them once she had gone to her room with clear instructions he was to touch nothing. He had not listened to her, of course. Almost all of the items he’d looked at had the smaller and thinner black ropes protruding from them. He had checked several such contrivances, followed those cords only to find they disappeared into the walls.

That was far from all the bizarre and outlandish things he’d seen – with more undoubtedly to come, the paranoid half of him asserted – but it was what resurfaced first. Some of the things he’d seen he wasn’t sure what to make of or how anyone had contrived of them in the first place. If he didn’t know better, he would think himself trapped in a nightmare constructed by Vaermina.

The tapestry with the moving pictures was by far the strangest thing Ignatia had shown him. She’d pointed an oblong constructed of some black material at it and a depiction of a war or confrontation of two opposing sides had appeared. The bodiless voice that had spoken above the clamour had stated this was a re-enactment of a battle that had supposedly taken place in the Merethic era.

Ignatia had looked very pleased with herself and had even showed him how that black oblong functioned, to “change channels” as she’d called it. He had spent several hours exchanging one moving tapestry for another and that sense of displacement that had been with him since Solstheim had only grown. It was like a cold, hollow feeling right in the pit of his stomach, as if he had swallowed a lump of lead.

Miraak removed the dark eye-coverings from his face, looking directly at the Altmer separated from him by mere inches. She was still awaiting a reply and while she might not be as aggressive in her methods, he assumed, she was still interested in one. He considered what would satisfy her and not be revealing more than necessary. “You will forgive me, insehofkah, but I cannot give you a direct answer to your question.”

Eyrie had watched the big Nord as silence had stretched between them for a few unchanging heartbeats bar the minute, almost invisible movements of the muscles in his face, throat and shoulders. He was good at wrapping cool serenity around himself but if she wasn’t mistaken, she thought there was an inner struggle going on. When he finally spoke, she nodded, not without sympathy. “Fair enough,” she told him. It was the only thing she _could_ say. She’d never been in his shoes, even with as much as she had moved around in her youth. Especially if he was from another time which, more and more, seemed the undisputable issue.

It was a strange concept, time-travel, that honestly belonged in works of fiction.

Reality and logic demanded that if it really was time-travel, then… This was just absurd! The whole idea sounded sillier than being locked up in a mask or imprisoned in another realm of existence. Myths and stories had spoken of soul gems that stored the souls of the living and how Oblivion had many different realms, places within places, sort of like the layers of a cake or faceting on a stone. It was all very weird and philosophical in her opinion. She wasn’t averse to discussing it, but it was better suited for a calm evening and a bottle of wine. However, knowing all she did about magic and what could exist in the world though, Eyrie wasn’t about to discard the ludicrous notion of time-travel or realm hopping or that Miraak really was an ancient Nord. At least not yet. It’d be a touch hypocritical if she did. And there was no telling what her mother would make of him or the whole confoundingly odd mess.

Igni not included.

Turning back around somewhat, she looked out her window, over towards the Treasury where the Imperial had disappeared. Hopefully, once Eyrie had those files in her hands, she might be able to give Miraak some answers for any questions he may have other than the ones pertaining to this time or technology. It would be a mercy to him if she could and she wasn’t known for being sadistic, no matter how much she tormented her friends. It was all done out of love, if in her own very unique way.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Sane people don’t work on Loredas,_ Aeryk’s mind berated him as he pulled his vintage dark cherry red Golden Claw Z3 car into an empty space in the side parking lot of the Treasury. It’s not like he had any difficulty finding one; the place was empty. While he could argue with that observation pertaining to his sanity, or lack thereof as the case might be, he couldn’t fault that it was accurate for the most part. But still, what was he doing early this bright and sunny Loredas morning rather than going out for a run at the park?

Hiking his ass into work because the fun-pyre Boss Lady had dumped a new assignment on him that staff in the acquisitions department had failed to make any headway on. Icing on that proverbial cake? The item that Karliah was hot to get her hands on was currently the property of the very wealthy and affluent Altmer, Elmar Rilarda. And who was Elmar Rilarda, you might ask? Aeryk didn’t have any problems with Mr. Rilarda personally; it was the cold-hearted Altmer woman Elmar was married to that the big mixed-blood would rather cut both his feet off than deal with.

 _You Divines must be having a heyday up there, laughing at me._ The only way to make this day any more of a disaster was if it suddenly started raining. He was not in a good mood and if Karliah was in her office today – _not fucking likely,_ he thought darkly – he’d demand hazard pay for this new project she’d landed him with.

A lot of other colourful and unflattering thoughts pertaining to the Dunmer chief executive slave-driver were running amok in Aeryk’s head as he made his way to the front doors of the Treasury and rather than his day taking yet another nose-dive, it actually started to look a bit better with who he saw heading into the office, too.

“Igni!” the big mixed-blood called, raising a hand and waving to get her attention.

“Fuck me,” the Imperial muttered, hearing Aeryk.

It figured. The _one time_ she didn’t have a spare moment was when he’d show up. UGH! Men, they sucked. Seriously. And it wasn’t like she could pretend she hadn’t noticed him; Aeryk Bjornsson was a hard man to miss. He stood six feet nine inches tall in his bare feet, had the body of one of the best types of athletes and more than that, he wasn’t just “cute”. With long honey-blonde hair pulled back into a sophisticated ponytail, mossy green eyes and clear-drawn features, he was outright handsome. You’d have to be blind to overlook him and Ignatia was far from blind.

What she was just now, though, was annoyed at Aeryk’s timing. Her annoyance only grew when he flashed that wickedly charming boyish grin that showed just a hint of dimples in his smooth-shaven cheeks at her as he approached. With anything else female, they’d be melting but oh no, not her! She was immune. Or so she tried to convince herself as she repressed an answering grin. Ok, so it was harder than it seemed but she still managed! Barely.

“Don’t you do anything else besides work?” the Imperial snarked at the big mixed-blood.

Aeryk gave her a droll stare. “According to you and half of the billing department, the answer would be no.” He opened the door to the Treasury, holding it so Igni could enter before him.

The Imperial swept past, nose in the air. “You know, your timing has got to suck worse than your wardrobe. How many times have you blown me off this last week?”

Aeryk suppressed a grin as he followed after her; expect Igni to break his balls as soon as she got the opportunity. It was a good thing he adored her or he might seriously have gotten offended. “Don’t insult my little storm cloud bubble, woman,” he growled, mock-angry, at her. “I happen to like it. As for my having to skip our lunches, if you want to blame anyone for that, blame the Boss Lady.”

Igni made a rude noise, flipping a hand and smacking him in his stomach as they walked down the hall. Not that she actually hurt him; she was willing to bet that if it came to a fight between a tanker and Aeryk, the big mixed-blood would win. She’d seen him without a shirt a couple times at work picnics and hells, his ribs had ribs. The man was seriously stacked. Too bad the rumour-mill here at the Treasury said he was a bit of a man-whore but that could just be because of his good looks. Gods knew they got him more than one longing stare on the streets or here at the office.

Igni couldn’t really blame the women who stared or openly propositioned him either. Another… incentive, shall we say, to not get too close and completely fall for that charismatic charm of his was the whisperings amongst some of her colleagues, both male a female, was that Aeryk was throwing the boss-lady into the sack. Considering how Karliah almost never gave him grief for anything, even working the insane amount of overtime he did, the Imperial could see where that rumour had its origin. Ah well. He wasn't really her “type” anyway.

They stopped at the doors to the elevator where Igni hit the button before leaning against the wall to wait for the lift to arrive. Her brows snapped together as she caught the quirk to Aeryk’s lips. “Fuck off, eh? If you wanna take the stairs, be my guest. I, for one, am not walking up three fucking flights.” She paused, tipping her head slightly to the side as she gave him a slow once over. “Unless you wanna offer to carry me?” She was willing to bet he could easily carry most people at the Treasury over flat ground without breaking a sweat so carrying her up a few flights shouldn’t be impossible…. Plus he smelled good. He always smelled good. Dammit.

“I think I’d be tempted to drop you in the fountain, Miss Snark,” Aeryk responded dryly. He flashed that grin at her again as she folded her arms across her chest. Igni was wearing a white shirt, hence why he’d said he’d dump her in the fountain. It made her blush. “Ha.”

“Fuck you.”

Aeryk snorted, leaning against the wall beside Igni and looping his free arm loosely about her shoulders to give her an affectionate squeeze. “Love you too, Pia.”

“That’s what I live for. Being a pain in your ass,” the Imperial shot back with a shake of her head. Rather she be one in his than vice versa. Right? He had enough women who were more than willing to eat out of the palm of his hand; she did not intend to add herself to that ever-growing list. Or die trying.

He let her go when the lift dinged and the doors opened, entering the elevator with her. His office was on the fifth floor but Igni’s was on one of the lower levels. Maybe it was partly procrastination that kept him from going there directly but it was mostly his need to see a friendly face on this fabulously shit-tastic day. Igni was nothing if not entertaining with her acerbic remarks and witty retorts. “So what brings you to our own personal realm of Oblivion this early?”

 _Can you be any more annoying? What is this, twenty fucking questions?_ Igni thought in irritation with one part of her brain as the other part was scrambling for an answer that would pacify Aeryk without alerting him to what she was actually doing here.

She liked Aeryk, very much, was even grateful on some level that he was protective enough of her to ask why she was here on her day off. It was an admirable trait without it becoming inconvenient most of the time. He was known for offering to walk the female employees who worked as late as he did to their cars so they wouldn't have to hazard the trek alone. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t mind it because he often bugged her – ok, he seemed to take pleasure in antagonizing her, the freak – a bit more than the others. He was also a wonderful idiot deterrent at the bars and clubs; one look at his towering, powerful frame and said idiots beat a hasty retreat. But just now Aeryk’s protective proclivities towards her were more irritating than endearing.

“I’m going to be out sick for a while and I wanted to pick up some files, just in case,” Igni quickly lied. “Accident over on the island, ya know?”

Aeryk arched a single brow but didn’t comment on that. He knew of the shadier side of acquisitions at the Treasury but didn’t actually have anything to do directly with them since he was technically the head of the public relations department. He did ask one question though and that was how long Igni expected to be on her “sick leave”.

“I dunno. A few weeks maybe?”

They exited the elevator and turned right down another hallway, still talking. “What am I supposed to do for entertainment with you gone, Igni?” Aeryk lamented without much sincerity. “Annoying you day in and day out is part of my reason for getting out of bed every day.”

“You are so full of shit your eyes should be brown,” she threw right back, the corners of her lips twitching when he laughed in response, regardless that this was supposed to be a covert mission. Sort of. Ok, so she wasn’t completely immune to Aeryk’s charm because who was? It’s not like that was a crime anyway.

“You want me to grab something from Arcadia’s and swing by your place later?” Aeryk offered, holding open the door to the room of cubicles where Igni had her small office at the back. “I’ll even bring ice cream. My treat for having to cancel lunch on you so many times this past week.”

Just a few minutes’ walk from the Treasury, Arcadia’s was a restaurant that specialized in “rabbit food”, as Igni referred to it. For some really inconceivable reason she would never understand, Aeryk was a certified health-nut. She’d known him a few years now and had never once seen him eat even a single piece of candy! What a fucking weirdo.

Still, his offer made the Imperial smile before she recalled _who_ was also currently calling her apartment home. **_Temporarily_** , she thought stubbornly. “Ahhh,” she began, trying to stall for time to think of another lie. “No, it’s cool. I have uh… company?”

Aeryk paused outside her office, a slight frown drawing his darker blond brows together. “You not sure if you have company or not?”

Shit. He would have to go into protective mode on her. Igni slid into the chair behind her desk and hit the button to boot up her computer, frantically searching her brain for a good enough excuse or explanation that he would believe. “I have family from Cyrodiil visiting.” The lie fell casually from her tongue as she released a mental sigh of relief. While she didn’t really like lying to Aeryk, in this case it was a necessary evil. He knew enough about her background to understand that she was not on good terms with her relations back in the Imperial City.

He nodded, looking sympathetic. That look dissolved, though, replaced by his charming grin and he was right back to teasing her. “Damn, and here I thought you’d gotten yourself a boyfriend.”

Igni made a face at the big mixed-blood, chucking one of the small plastic statuettes she had on her desk right at his head. He deftly caught it before it could hit him. “You’re starting to sound like a typical pervert male now, with sex constantly on your brain.” She paused a beat then oh so casually asked jokingly, “Or were you hoping for details from my non-existent sex life?” Come to think of it, Eyrie had a penchant for trying to set her up. Even, apparently, with time-travelling, weirdo strangers. For fuck’s sake.

Aeryk chuckled with a snort. “Now who’s the pervert?”

Igni flipped him off which just made him laugh outright as he tossed the statuette back to her. Not with as much force as she’d thrown it at him, mind you.

The screen of her PC finally loaded, asking for her password ID. The Imperial glanced up at Aeryk lounging casually in her doorway. “You going to babysit me all damned day? Get out. I got work to do and so do you or you wouldn’t even be here.”

Aeryk grinned with the display of dimples that marked his cheeks, mossy green eyes bright with amusement. “No rest for the wicked, is there?” He asked facetiously. “Call you later?”

Igni nodded absently. “Sure thing. Later, Aeryk.” She watched as he left her small office and it crossed her mind, not for the first time, to wonder why he was still single. _Oh yeah_ , she answered herself. _Because all he ever does is work. He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. Can’t even take an hour off to have a fricking lunch with me!_

Pulling out the sliding tray to get to her keyboard, Igni tapped in her password. The sooner she got those files and everything else, the sooner she could get out of this soul-sucking prison of an office. And right into another prison with a supposedly ancient Nord that she had no idea what to do with. Other than jump his old and dusty bones, as Eyrie seemed to be of the opinion Igni should do.

Yeah, right!

You’d think, with as many reclamation jobs as she’d done for Karliah, the CEO and owner of the Wolfqueen’s Treasury, that the trip to Solstheim would have been a simple in and out operation. But oh no! She’d had to go and open that fucking book and almost end up squashed by what – _WHO!_ – had fallen out of it. It was enough to make her want to bang her head repeatedly on her desk in frustration. Or until she was in an aggravation-induced coma.

Igni groaned and dragged her hands through her hair, shoving it back from her face as she glared balefully at her monitor. What in the name of Oblivion had she unwittingly gotten herself into?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take too long for Igni to reappear in the Treasury’s doorway, carrying a very stuffed file and looking a little harried. _At least she’s alive,_ Eyrie calmly observed as she watched the Imperial make a reluctant beeline towards Eyrie’s white semi-sports car. Although less than an hour inside her workplace on a Loredas was hardly going to kill the human, no matter what the other woman said. Eyrie gently shook her head as Igni arrived at the door of the front passenger seat.

“Did it hurt? Did you get stuck in the elevator? Die a little death in there?” the mer asked, eyes blinking innocently and an unapologetic grin upon her rosy lips, tinted a few shades deeper than their natural hue thanks to a lipstick. Igni’s eyes narrowed into bright amber slits as she cast a sullen glare at the other redhead, plunking herself into her seat. Despite the wording and lack of a verbal reply, Eyrie knew the human had caught what she was talking about because there was a telltale redness to those freckled cheeks; the tall blond man who’d entered the Treasury with her.

Extending the hand that held “the booty” – as the latest Ra Gada pirate film would term it – Igni unceremoniously dropped the folder into Eyrie lap and was rewarded by a small ‘oomph’. “I’m not going to dignify your question with a response,” the Imperial stated in grand hauteur fashion. She even had her nose in the air as she said it.

 _At least she hasn’t lost all of her upper class upbringing,_ Eyrie mused as she gathered up and straightened the papers that were threatening to fall out of the folder they’d been quickly stuffed into. _Haphazardly is more like it,_ Eyrie further silently grumped as she continued to try to bring a bit of order to the files. Auri’ada appreciated orderliness; it made things much easier to locate rather than having to go rooting around like a pig in a sty. Not that the Altmer herself was going to miss looking through them before her mother absconded with them to a safe place. The older mer relied on Eyrie’s ability to sense magicka in person but also to ascertain the subtle allusions to it in written or verbal communication where such topics may be discussed, even in a veiled way.

“And the digital documentation?” Eyrie further inquired, hoping Igni had remembered that as well.

The Imperial stuck a hand into a front pocket of her jeans and drew out a small black thumb-drive which she handed over with a peeved stare. “Anything else I can get for you while we’re still here? Maybe a nice latte from the lunch counter?”

“Is it big enough to use as a gag on you? In that case, get two. If not… get me something else.” A finely shaped pair of brows arched high at the end of the sentence while sky blue eyes furtively flicked first towards the seven storey office building behind them and then to the backseat.

 _I should introduce you to Aeryk. He’ll give you a bigger headache than the one you’re giving me right now,_ the Imperial thought with a mix of dark amusement and a bit of maliciousness. _There’s your ‘big enough to use as a gag’. HA!_ She didn’t say that, of course. But she thought it nonetheless.

Eyrie noticed the glimmer in the human woman’s golden eyes and narrowed her own bright topaz eyes on her. “Whatever you’re plotting; forget it. Your little machinations where I’m concerned have _never_ succeeded.” _Nor will they ever,_ she succinctly added in the privacy of her mind.

Igni’s oh so dignified response? She stuck her tongue out at the mer.

There was banter and then there was antagonising. The line between the two often blurred completely when it came to her and Igni. Much like how it did with her and Kalla. But the tiny hellion of a Nord was… a whole different creature altogether. In more than one sense of the term.

Eyrie rolled her eyes at the Imperial’s antics before placing the folder on the backseat beside Miraak. It was time to dump these two children back in their playpen and get to her next appointment. So far, things were going smoothly enough. Eyrie hoped her good luck would continue to hold and she wouldn’t be completely derailed from the objectives she still had yet to achieve today. Plotting friends notwithstanding.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride into the mountains was actually peaceful, with the rush of wind cool against her cheeks, tossing her long sunny red hair with teasing fingers and threatening to unravel her loose braid. Nothing but trees and the occasional other car passing her in the opposite lane as she headed for Meridia’s Animal Sanctuary and National Park where a certain friend from her past worked as a ranger. Even the sound of the music playing at low volume was swallowed by the wind. Eyrie flicked the radio off as she hit the last stretch of her drive.

Around another bend, a gravel road led up to a driveway made of hard-packed dirt; she pulled to a stop in front of a large log cabin with an open attached garage. His dark forest green jeep was there so that was a good sign he was actually home. She’d asked him to be but if duty called him out into the Sanctuary, there was nothing for it but to wait until her got back. Luckily, he hadn’t been called away it seemed. She cut the engine and climbed out of her white, sporty Sabrecat X10. After a quick assessment to make certain she was presentable – not that she really need bother, it was more habit than anything else – Eyrie headed towards the front door.

It opened before she even knocked and Bishop stood framed in the doorway. Dressed in a pair of faded, sturdy denim jeans and a rusty brown coloured button-down shirt of heavy cotton that was only done up about two thirds of the way, the sleeves rolled back on his forearms, and barefoot, he didn’t look too the worse for wear. His hair, almost the same shade as his shirt, appeared to be a bit longer than the last time she’d seen him. It was those tousled locks more than anything that made the mer grin.

“Hello, Grumpy!” she said cheerily with a friendly wave. She stopped just before the ranger, leaning in to give him a proper hug and a kiss on one heavily stubbled cheek. Leaning back, Eyrie affected a concerned frown, bright blue eyes narrowing slightly as she gave him a quick once-over. “You’re looking a bit ragged round the edges. The taming of the wild beast not coming along as smoothly as all that, hm?”

“Very funny,” Bishop said, returning the hug and the kiss to his cheek with one of his own. He caught the hand that was plucking at the collar of his shirt, holding the slim fingers captive as golden eyes full of whisky warmth met ingenious topaz that blinked innocently at him. He jerked the collar back into place even as Eyrie grinned, covering up a new set of bite marks. The mer’s grin only grew but she said nothing. For now. He knew she’d start in on him soon enough and the marks of ‘battle’ he’d acquired.

“Can I have my hand back?” she asked sweetly, batting her lashes at him.

The ranger growled softly, not releasing the hand and instead tugged her a bit closer to give her a tighter hug, gently crushing her ample curves against him. “It’s good to see you, Trouble.”

Eyrie was a bit surprised at the show of affection but hugged him right back all the same, resting her head on one brawny shoulder. “It’s good to see you, too, Bishop.” When he loosened his hold enough that she could take a proper breath again, the mer smiled warmly up into his face. He wasn’t that much taller than her so they were on just about eye level with her in heels. “Joking aside, how’re you doing?”

“Can’t complain.” He flashed that wicked grin at her that showed just a hint of his slightly longer canines, rubbing a hand over the bite marks she’d noticed earlier. “It’s one hellsuva distraction you dropped on me a month ago.”

The Altmer waved one slim hand airily, laughing. “Think nothing of it! You know I always keep my word.”

“Took you long enough…” Bishop stopped, clearing his throat at the elegantly arched brows of the woman and the cheeky smirk that was tugging at the corners of her full lips. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans, flashing that same grin at her. “Thank you.”

Eyrie pressed a hand to her bosom, pretending to swoon into him. He caught her, of course, and the pair laughed. “Be still, my heart, more than one realm of Oblivion must have frozen over for you to actually thank me,” she teased as he set her back upright.

“Shut it, Trouble, and don’t ruin the moment,” the ranger grumbled at her but he was almost – almost! – smiling, too. “So, why’d you call earlier to see if I was busy this afternoon?” He flicked a glance past the mer’s snowy skirt-suit and down to the two inch, nude heels she was wearing. “It certainly wasn’t for a hike in the woods or to have a drink with me. You have the same type of whisky at your place.”

“Mine’s better, I’ll have you know,” the mer said with a light sniff even though they both knew it was true; Eyrie only ever stocked the best whisky. This was based upon several past drinking sessions, too! His response was a smirk that confirmed indeed she did but he had something else her house didn’t. Elegantly shaped brows climbed into a pointed arch but she didn’t say anything either. A moment later, she leaned her head to the side, peeking over his shoulder even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to see most of the cabin’s interior from where she stood. Not to mention the aforementioned wild animal.

“Have you let the little beastie out to roam? Is she wearing a collar just in case?” she teased with a mild smile. Not that she didn’t mind Kalla being here at this particular moment, but it might just be… easier if the tiny Nord wasn’t. It’d certainly go faster if she wasn’t.

“Kalla’s gone out for a run but she’ll be back soon. Why?” His sharp eyes travelled over her form at a leisurely pace. Not that he’d find even a thread out of place. Eyrie knew how to look smartly casual as well as elegantly tousled, not that she applied the latter look too often. It’d happened more often in the past though and more so by necessity because certain people who shall go unnamed kept messing up her perfectly put-together self. “Did you need her for anything?”

“No…” She let her voice drag as her crystalline gaze returned to his face. “I actually need you…” She paused, scrunching her nose up at him as it was his turn to arch a single brow. To add to it, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the jamb with a cocky smirk. “Not like that, you ass,” Eyrie continued, batting him playfully in his stomach and getting a muffled oomph as her hand made contact. “I actually wanted to know the proper dose of tranquilizer it would take to immobilize a rather large creature,” she explained smoothly, keeping her features impassive. “Something between a wolf and a bear maybe…”

She didn’t want to come right out and say what, exactly, the tranquilizer may be for; that would just make the ranger ask questions she did not want to answer. However…

“A wolf… or bear?” He sounded incredulous. Looked it, too, because he managed to both frown at her while simultaneously his thick, level coppery brows had risen closer to his hairline. “If you’re having problems, Trouble, maybe you should call Animal Control and have them take care of it.”

“Nonsense. That’s what I have you for!” Eyrie waved the suggestion away with another one of those airy fluttering of her fingers. “After all,” she flashed him a sweet smile, “you already took care of one of my animal problems. I thought I should take care of this one myself, at least in part.” She paused a moment. “It might be one of the neighbour’s dogs that have been getting into my garbage. I don’t want to kill the poor thing on accident.”

“A dog?”

He still sounded uncertain so Eyrie nodded, continuing, “One of those big breeds, probably a hybrid wolf-dog.”

“So why not call the dog catcher?”

Eyrie affected a disgusted expression. “No! Definitely not. They might just take the animal away and euthanize it, no questions asked. Come on, Bishop. I’m not asking you to hide a body for me.” She wasn’t asking for _that_ – at least not yet – just a bit of advice… And maybe an extra dose or two of tranquilizers. No big deal, right?

However, people walked into the wilds all the time and disappeared without a trace. So much the better, if it came to that, since the _person_ who’d be disappearing had no records whatsoever. That was a thought to be considered, if it ever came to such an extreme solution. She could easily get Kalla and Bishop on board with it, too, if she told them it involved someone potentially harmful to Ignatia. But… no need for extreme measures.

Not just yet.

Bishop, however, still stood there, leaning on the stupid doorpost to his stupid log cabin, immovable as a stupid, big bloody boulder. Nords! Thick-headed, stubborn asses… And apparently nothing had changed since whenever Miraak was supposedly from. UGH! Eyrie released an annoyed sigh.

Seeing the irritation flaring in the mer’s crystalline blue eyes along with the tightening of the flesh at their corners and the edges of her lips, the ranger realized she was quite serious. He heaved an annoyed sigh of his own. “Fine. But under _two_ conditions. First,” he held up a single finger, staring straight at Eyrie. “You prove to me you know how to shoot the damned thing. And secondly, that you get the right dose so whatever-it-is doesn’t maul you.”

Oh. Those were both good points. While Eyrie did own a gun and was more than passingly familiar with how to wield one, tranquilising something was another matter entirely. And since the ranger thought that her target was an animal – and to be fair, Miraak was sort of an animal; ancient Nord! Hello?! – this information would be quite useful. Though, Auri’ada had given her a tranq gun when the Dunmer found out about Kalla living with her daughter. But it’s not like she could tell Bishop that. Better to feign ignorance, in this case.

“Both are excellent points and I accept.” What else could she say without questions, _too many_ of them at that, arising? The sooner she had this errand done, the better. Especially since she wasn’t likely to escape Kalla as easily if the little hellion thought there was another reason or motive behind the tranquilizers. The woman was almost too inquisitive and paranoid but Eyrie couldn’t really blame her. Speaking of the woman though…

“Will this take long?” Eyrie asked as she followed him inside, still trying to keep up casual appearances. She didn’t want to run the risk of the little beastie coming back from her run and finding her here. Again, questions and Kalla was… tenacious. Polite way of saying more stubborn than an ox and not easily deterred.

Sunlight poured in through the bank of windows that ran from floor to ceiling and wall to wall on her left, adding a warm, golden glow to the polished wood floors and walls. The interior of the cabin wasn’t cramped but neither was it overly spacious. The whole place was done in warm earth tones, much in keeping with the man in front of her. He led her past the single flight of open stairs that led up to his loft-style bedroom and to the cosy nook that served as his work station. Two bay windows allowed in more tree-dappled light, setting faint green-tinged shadows dancing across the surfaces of his desk. He opened one of the drawers to that desk and pulled out a black plastic box, set it down and flipped open the top.

“Bishop?” Eyrie prodded him again, folding her arms beneath her bosom. She just managed to refrain from tapping a foot at his antics. Well, and he could take his bloody time about it!

He retrieved one of the tranq guns from the case, handing it to her along with several empty cartridges and a vial of milky looking liquid. The mer accepted all of it, turning the clear bottle around in her hand. A sheet of paper, crinkled around the edges, was placed in her line of sight. Putting the gun down for a moment, she picked up the paper instead, reading over the lines of black type. Instructions on how to load the gun and a list of recommended dosages for various animals native to the preserve. No “Nord” on the list though. Typical.

She glanced up at the ranger. “You’re such a jackass.” Bishop grinned, rubbing at his scarred left brow with the middle finger of one hand. Eyrie snorted softly. “Real mature, too. Where do you suggest I aim? Somewhere with a lot of blood?” she asked with a pointed stare at his crotch.

Bishop snorted then reached back behind him, twisting around to show her the indentations between the wings of his shoulder blades. “Right around here. Some place the animal can’t get to easily and pull it out before it’s taken effect.”

 _Sound enough advice,_ she agreed silently as she nodded absently. She might have to tell Igni to get creative though…

He nodded towards the vial still in her hand. “That’s fast acting. Shouldn’t take more than twenty or thirty seconds before they’re out cold.” He took the tranq gun, cartridges and vial back, went digging in his desk again and brought out an empty case. “That’s really not that long,” he explained as he deposited the equipment carefully. “Still, I’d recommend not being too close when you fire it.”

Eyrie didn’t correct him with the fact that she’d already handled some of that particular type of tranquilizer before. There were other concoctions out there, sure, but when you needed to incapacitate a large, potentially vicious animal, you wanted one that was efficient and potent. “I’ll make sure to keep my distance.”

She wasn’t sure if she could tell Igni to do the same though, considering the size of the Imperial’s apartment. Maybe the best tactic in the event of a possibly harmful confrontation with their ‘interesting’ guest was to get close, stab him with a dart and then run like a bat out of Oblivion. Then again, maybe a gun – one that shot actual bullets, not tranq darts – _was_ the way to go if what Igni had told her about his reaction to the weapon the other day was anything to go on. She wondered if Igni could manage to clobber him over the head and knock him out a second time.

“Anything else? Or do you need me to shoot something to prove I can handle this type of weapon?” Eyrie asked with an amused smile as she accepted the sleek box from the Nord. Seeing that grin of his she was all too familiar with, the Altmer rolled her eyes. “Don’t answer that. Forget I even mentioned it.”  

He ignored her, of course. “Since when do you need lessons on how to handle a big gun, Trouble?”

“You are correct, of course. I have, after all, handled smaller,” her eyes drifted down the front of his lean frame, stopping just about hip level, “ _things_ in my days,” she replied sweetly, blinking innocently at him.

He smirked, looking way too self-assured. Shit. Eyrie held the case against her chest, almost like a shield, waiting for the inevitable.

“Careful, or Kalla will send you pictures.”

And the little monster would do it, too, Eyrie just knew it! She did _not_ need to go there again. Especially not now. She had enough on her plate, what with a strange, possibly ancient human with magic, the evil tote and its contents that her mother had taken with her, and Igni calling or texting her every five minutes to complain about her own Nord problem.

Disgruntled, the mer glowered at the ranger. “You know they say you can’t judge size based on pictures,” she retorted as they headed back outside.

Honestly, no matter how aggravated she sounded, the bantering back and forth was fun. It made the Altmer almost – _almost_ – feel like nothing had changed at all from all those years ago. But it had. Not that she truly minded. It had been a nice diversion while it lasted but fairy-tales, real ones, never really did have a happy ending. In the real world, Prince Charming or the princess always ended up dying or locked away in some dungeon, left to fade away into history. Harsh reality was… well, harsh. There was no getting around that.

Still, one of the small pleasures Eyrie still had left from those long gone days was antagonizing her friends. Something Ondolemar didn’t comprehend the reasoning behind. _“Why harass people you actually said you **liked**? Is it a human thing?” _ the other Altmer would ask, like he really was trying to wrap his mind around this foreign concept. Which just sucked all the fun right out of it for her. Eyrie’d given up trying to have that same playful banter with Ondolemar. There were brick walls then there was… well, _him_. Not that he couldn’t be sweet and had a certain charm and calm that could be appealing but there was a distinct difference between the repartees she had with him and what she had with many of her other friends. You couldn’t have everything in one person though, she understood and accepted that.

 _“It’s something to grow into.”_ She remembered her mother’s words early on in her acquaintance with the other Altmer. _“Every relationship takes some time to show its bounty. Sometimes people will surprise you with what they have to offer if you look carefully enough.”_ She didn’t doubt her mother. Maybe she was running on a too fast, too _human_ , schedule…

That was a thought for another day though, or at least for when she was alone, if not a conversation to be had with her mother or Ondolemar himself. For the moment, Eyrie allowed herself to fall back into that same frame of mind she’d almost abandoned earlier.

She was about to say something particularly witty to Bishop’s newest comment – he hadn’t offered to actually show her but had made a reference to the last time she had handled his blunt object, the ass – when the mer was almost knocked off her feet. _Something_ had impacted her from behind. Looking down, she saw a pair of arms that were locked around her waist and just a shade or two darker than the white, lightweight blazer she was wearing over her pale blue, silk top. The arms themselves were just a bit grubby, tracking little patches of dirt onto the expensive Akaviri silk.

“We’ve had this conversation before, elfling!” A husky, lilting Nordic voice emanated from somewhere around the level of the mer’s elbow. “Remember? I told you it took both hands!”

 _Oh for the love of…! Really?_ Eyrie mentally threw her hands up. She had almost made it clear away, too! Had made it back outside the cabin, right before the tiny terror that was still clinging to her had just appeared out of nowhere and was currently _getting dirt all over her jacket!_ It didn’t help that Bishop was now looking at her with a smug grin on his handsome, scarred face.

At least Kalla had let go of her at last and moved to stand in front of the ranger, leaning back against him. He draped his arms over her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the state of cleanliness – or lack thereof, as the current case may be – of the hellion. The small, slender human woman had on a pair of very short black workout shorts, a black tank top that clung to her lean, muscular body and her customary military-issue black flat-soled boots. Her long wild curls, so pale a blonde as to be almost white in certain lights, were only half-tamed, secured in a messy braid that hung down to her waist. She was sweaty, her pale cheeks still flushed a bright pink, and had splatters of mud on her exposed skin.

The Altmer grinned teasingly. “I thought I smelled a wet dog.”

“Hey!” Kalla snapped, returning the grin. “Watch it, elfling. I know where you sleep.”

She arched one brow, a corner of her mouth trembling as she tried to keep from grinning again. Eyrie looked right at Bishop even though what she said was directed to the human woman. “And I know where you _don’t_ sleep.”

“We sleep!” the tiny, ghost-pale human offered as a rebuttal. Eyrie continued to stare, one elegantly-shaped brow arched high. “Sometimes.” Kalla huffed as the mer’s other brow joined the first. “Well, we do.”

The staring contest between the two women continued, neither willing to give ground on this point, until Eyrie noticed the light of interest igniting in Kalla’s dual-coloured eyes and the flaring of her nostrils. “Newspaper!” the mer snapped in warning, narrowing her own eyes on the too-inquisitive-for-her-own-good woman. It bloody figured that the little monster would catch a whiff of something despite how short a while and not up close and personal Miraak had been to the taller Altmer. As for the phrase, “newspaper”, it was a sort of code word between the two and Kalla knew that it meant she should keep her snoot out of the mer’s business. At least until the wee fiend was given the free and clear to barge on in, anyway.

The short, slender Nord snorted, grumbling quietly, “Since when has that ever worked?” The ranger must have done something because Kalla relented, tipping her head back to glance up at him before resettling herself in his loose embrace. “So, what brings you to the mountain, chick?”

“Eyrie’s having problems with a neighbour’s dog,” Bishop interjected smoothly.

Whatever his reasons were behind that fortuitous interruption, Eyrie was grateful. They both knew that if Kalla believed one of her friends, particularly one she viewed as family, were having problems, the stubborn Nord woman would insist on taking care of it for them or at least being present in case backup was needed. Right now, Eyrie didn’t want to use the ace up her sleeve she had in the form of the little monster if more drastic measures were needed in dealing with Miraak. You never gave away your hand to a potential adversary, after all. That was her reasons for hoping to be gone before Kalla found her here.

Bishop’s reasons for wanting to keep Kalla right where she was were likely much less… altruistic. In fact, the mer recanted, she knew for a definite they weren’t altruistic in the slightest. Judging by the human woman’s reaction when Eyrie picked her up after having unceremoniously stranding and leaving her at the ranger’s “mercy”, that feeling was entirely mutual between the two Nords. As far as the Altmer saw it, that was a win-win. They were both distracted and generally kept out of her hair.

“A dog?” Kalla was saying as she attempted to brush some of the flakes of dirt that were beginning to dry off her arms. “I could—”

She got no further other than to let out a whoop of surprise because Bishop picked up the hellion and tossed her over his shoulder. One large hand came down across her backside with a loud smack that made Kalla let out another whoop as she squirmed in his grasp, laughing and cursing him all at the same time. Eyrie was glad that Kalla couldn’t see her face; it was slowly starting to turn as red as her hair at the language the petite Nord was using. Bishop, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed.

“That’s enough outta you, wee fiend,” the ranger told the wriggling woman. “Eyrie’s more than able to take care of a stray dog.”

“Only when it’s under six feet,” the mer grumbled as she shook her head at the indelicate phrases rolling through the clearing. Eyrie knew of her shorter friend’s extensive military background but the woman still managed to strike her speechless from time to time with the rather colourful vocabulary the human had picked up in her fairly short lifetime.

“You kick me in the balls and I’ll tie you down again,” Bishop amiably warned Kalla as he threw a grin at the mer before turning back towards the cabin.

Eyrie’s blush deepened a few shades further at that. Ropes? That was something she hadn’t been briefed upon before. Not that she needed it either! Or maybe they used handcuffs? The mer gave her head a shake to dispel the wild mental image that thought had conjured.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she said, not really knowing the proper response and figuring beating a hasty retreat was called for.

The Altmer didn’t wait for a reply from either Nord, just turned and walked the dozen or so feet to her car and got in. And then got out of there as quickly as possible. Knowing those two as well as she did, public nudity wasn’t a concern of theirs. She didn’t want to get hit by flying clothing or a stray button.

You could take the animal out of the wild but never the wild out of the animal. Unless you had a tranq gun. Then maybe you stood a chance. For a little while. Maybe. If you were lucky. Eyrie didn’t feel like pushing hers any more than it already had been today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul  
> insehofkah - host/master of the house
> 
> Eyrie being that logical friend who party poops all over your stress relief rants. T-t-t. Poor Igni.


End file.
